


Sic Infit

by missema



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crush, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Duelling, F/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Widowed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-30
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-10-30 08:24:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 37,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missema/pseuds/missema
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story prompt for an AU where Wesley Vallen lives instead of Aveline, and joins F!Hawke and company in Kirkwall.</p><p>Wesley lives and Aveline is the one infected with the taint, perishing in Lothering. This is a series of encounters between Hawke and Wesley as they go start new lives in Kirkwall. Hawke is a charming/diplo mix with a tendency to use whatever she needs to get her way. Wesley is deeply unhappy in Kirkwall, not only missing Aveline but feeling alienated within the Order.</p><p>This is the story of Hawke and Wesley getting together.</p><p>Sic infit - Latin for So it begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Dreams (Preface)

**Author's Note:**

> This first Chapter was a separate piece called New Dreams, and is a companion piece for the whole work. I wrote this first as a minifill, but then started a longer story inspired by this first work.

They would have gotten along quite well.  
  
It's the thought that is in his head so often when he's with her, even though Wesley knows that Hawke is completely different from his soldier wife, Aveline. Marian is flip and sarcastic at times, but unexpectedly diplomatic and caring.  
  
He's stayed with her, watched the apostate play the coquette and use her youth to her advantage, besting thugs in fights, getting the upper hand as she spars verbally with the seneschal, gently teasing all of her friends, even him, so the line between flirtatious and friendly was too blurry to consider a line. Her slender body was soft, skin mostly unblemished, nothing at all like the scarred, battle-hardened body of his deceased wife. Part of him knows she's too young for him, but then she's too young for all of this, this mess, this responsibility, this city.  
  
At first he owed her a debt, he stayed and protected her because she did something he could not. No man should be asked to kill his wife, to be the one to deliver the final blow, even if it is a merciful one. When the witch spoke and told them, he simply closed his eyes and tried to will it away, unbelieving. Not his warrior, not Aveline.  
  
But then he saw it. Her emerald colored eyes, usually so full of determination, jaw set and steady, had turned shiny grey tinged with red, her face growing slack around them. Amazing, really, how quickly she'd turned, the pallor of her skin a sickly translucent, dark veins spidering across her face, the blighted blood of monsters racing through her system.  
  
"Please, Wesley. Do this for me. No soldier wants to become the enemy." She'd begged, her tainted body sagging against the dead landscape that once was Lothering, but he could not.  
  
Marian had. He gave her his dagger and watched with weeping eyes as the apostate give his wife a merciful end.  
  
She was stronger than he; she saved him from having to end Aveline's life. He never resented the blood on her hands, only realized that he owed her a tremendous debt. But later, the longer he stayed in her company, thoughts that were no longer filled with grief for Aveline, strayed towards Marian. The beautiful apostate became the star in all of his fantasies, the border between just friends left so far behind it may as well have been in the Deep Roads.  
  
"Wesley, are you alright?" At the sound of her voice his eyes snapped open, and he was treated to her face blocking out the dank city around them. Marian was peering into his face, cautiously searching for something amiss. "Do you need lyrium?" She asked in a much quieter tone, hands already fumbling in her pack to pass him a vial. He smiled at her, shaking his head to refuse her offer.  
  
"No. I'm fine. Let's keep going." He answered, reminding himself that they were in Darktown and he couldn't give into daydreams here, lest he get shanked. The undercity was no place to get caught unawares.  
  
Marian smiled at him, her sweet pink lips curling up at the ends, her face still concerned despite his large, eager answering grin. Deep inside a ferocious longing clawed at him, a desire borne of admiration, loyalty and friendship turned into something carnal. He thought about kissing her, hooking one of his calloused hands around the silken skin of her neck, and pressing his lips to hers, heedless of all the derelict onlookers surrounding them. As the image formed in his mind, Wesley had to bite back a groan of want.  
  
She had no idea.


	2. On Arrival (Wesley)

He was a templar, and she a mage. Wesley almost laughed at the thought, how cliche the two of them were. At least he knew that their pairing wasn't uncommon, and found a little solace in the knowledge that he wasn't the first templar to fight with such feelings. In looks, she was nothing like his former wife, but she reminded him of a force of good, just as Aveline had. Wesley supposed that was what had attracted him to her in the first place.  
  
Marian was a friend, well, she and her family were as close to friends as he got in Kirkwall, even if he hadn't seen her or her brother Carver that often since they'd arrived. When their ship rolled past the black cliffs, through the chained rocks, he knew Kirkwall wouldn't be hospitable to a bunch of Fereldans fleeing the Blight. He had been more fortunate than most, upon landfall, he was given permission to leave to report to the Knight-Commander. The templar plate on his chest a passport that caused most of the city guardsmen to simply step aside when he approached. He was surprised that the Order here commanded such immediate respect. Still, he refused to abandon his companions at the gate, they felt like all he had left of a life too hastily abandoned.  
  
"You can go, you don't have to wait here with us for Gamlen." Marian said, laying in the shadow of a massive building, her back flat on the ground. She made herself somewhat comfortable, clearly not enthusiastic about having her fate tied to an uncle she'd never met. The ease her tone didn't fool Wesley, he'd observed the tightness around her mouth since they'd arrived, her body betraying her tension even as she did her best to hide it.  
  
"It's not right to just leave you all here. I owe you my life." Wesley said, a stab of pain throbbing through him as he thought of his wife, the life they couldn't save, even in a group.  
  
She'd died there, next to the other Hawke girl, another apostate. Bethany. Gloom shrouded his face as he tried to block out the thoughts, fruitlessly trying to stop himself from remembering. It wouldn't work, just as it hadn't every night that they'd been at sea and he could see his Aveline, her ginger hair spread against the deadened rocky landscape, unusually messy because he'd taken her headband. He'd tried to smooth it back, feeling it under his hands one last time before they moved on. The band was a small trinket, but it reminded him of her, she was almost never without it unless she was resting, and sometimes even then it would grace her head, the familiarity of the accessory rendering the weight forgotten. It was simply a part of her.  
  
He'd taken her weapon too, the Chevalier's Reach, the longsword her father gave her. At first, he hadn't intended to take it, the overwhelming surrealism of being aided by a dragon witch making the situation seem like a nightmare he would wake from. When Marian said his name, it brought him out of some kind of daze, and he realized he would never ever see Aveline again. That she would never be again.  
  
"Wesley." Marian's voice was soft, but firm. They needed to move on soon, but she remained standing the clearing, the Witch waiting impatiently behind them. "Is Aveline's weapon Orlesian?" She asked, eyes narrowed at the decorative hilt, the design on the blade. "You should have it."  
  
"Yes, of course." He agreed, though it hadn't even crossed his mind. "Leave nothing for the darkspawn."  
  
"There is that." Marian said. "But _you_ should have it." She said, as she took the scarf from around her sister's neck and wordlessly passed it to Carver. Her hands were gentle as she laid her younger sister back down on the ground, fingertips brushing tenderly across her cheek. Wesley turned his head away, tears stinging his eyes. If he kept looking, the heart he felt breaking in his chest might actually kill him, already it was sapping his will to leave.  
  
Even the memory sent sparks of pain shooting through his chest, and he inhaled deeply, taking in the humid air around them, thick with the stench of many unwashed bodies corralled into one place. The oppressive grey of Kirkwall reformed around him when he opened his eyes, surrounded by prison buildings instead of dead, blighted land. It was honestly hard to tell which was worse. He blew a defeated breath out through his dry lips, as he stood near the Hawke family in the Gallows, even though he was free to leave. Wesley didn't wish to leave them there alone, though they were hardly defenseless, but there was something else keeping him with them, that he didn't really need to voice. He knew that they were all thinking about it.  
  
He warred his own conscience with regards to Marian's status as an apostate. Wesley didn't want to turn her in, but it was hard to drown out the words of the Order that filled his head, words that he lived by. Magic was to serve man, not rule over them, and mages were to be contained. Though he had never served at Kinloch Hold, the home of the Circle of Magi in Ferelden, he'd always believed it to be the best place for mages, at least until he heard about the troubles there. He hadn't made it to Denerim, but he'd heard word on the road that abominations stalked the halls and blood mages were amongst even the Senior Enchanters. Magic was a foul gift.  
  
Marian didn't look perturbed, her face inscrutable, black hair messily spread out behind her head and her eyes closed. Wesley realized that she was probably waiting for him to make a move and didn't want to tip her hand should he decide to turn on her.  
  
"Wesley, it's alright. My brother Gamlen will come for us and we will get into the city." Leandra assured him, turning her gaze over to where he stood, a few feet from Marian. Behind her, his back against the wall where he sat, Carver glared at him, openly mistrustful. The boy was pugnacious, and his envy of his sister would consume him if he couldn't master it, get past it, but they undeniably loved each other. It was sweet, how they cared for each other but maintained some distance, more siblings than friends. Carver would stand between him and Marian if Wesley tried anything, just as she'd stood in front of her sister when they'd met in Lothering.  
  
It was then that Marian opened one eye, one piercingly blue eye that sought him out, looking at him sideways from where she lay. Her hand drifted slowly to her waist, where the dagger he'd given her was attached to her trousers. She gripped it, the golden hilt blocked by her long fingers closing over it, in an almost casual manner. He hadn't been able to take it back, not after it ended Aveline's life. Wesley looked away from her, the message clear. He owed her a debt; her life in exchange for the one she'd taken.  
  
"If you insist." He answered, looking back at Leandra. "Send word when you are settled." Wesley advised them and with one last look at the Hawkes, he left, walking slowly towards the foreboding building beyond the black iron gates.  
  
Wesley didn't hear from them for some time, but he understood they'd gotten into the city and were working off the massive bribes it had taken to gain their entrance. Marian never elaborated on what kind of work they did, but he knew it was for Athenril, the smuggler that operated outside the Coterie. It was a wise choice, she generally bribed the right templars and guards, keeping Hawke off the radar for as long as they worked together.  
  
The hovel they shared with their uncle had been too depressing on the one occasion he'd come to call. Marian hadn't been there when he'd come, she'd been out working, but Carver and Leandra were in. He hadn't met the infamous Gamlen, but he was at the Blooming Rose according to Carver, if he wanted to introduce himself. He could tell that sickened Leandra, but Carver found it mildly amusing. Wesley declined the offer, he didn't go to the place, but between the Order and the city guard, they kept the whores in business.  
  
It wasn't what he expected, Leandra had described herself as a noble and from what he heard, she had been at one time. Her family had been one of the most prominent families in Kirkwall before their magic was exposed, an estate in Hightown bore her family name. Living in the slums of the old city with her near destitute brother, using the word filthy to describe their abode would have been too generous, their lives had to be much harder than they'd ever expected.  
  
The meeting was strained, awkward. Leandra politely asked how he was, but it was clear that his armor was upsetting her. Carver asked questions about the Order, and he got the impression that the young man might be considering a career change. He assured the Hawkes that he didn't relay any information about them to the Order, that Marian and their family was safe. Here in Kirkwall, they were the only people he had that knew Aveline, that at least saw her before she died and something within him couldn't throw that connection away. He missed his wife too fiercely to abandon the only people that remembered her.  
  
Marian found him one day in the Gallows a few months later, cold wind lashing around him as he stood on duty.  
  
"How are you Ser Wesley?" Her voice asked from beside him.  
  
He hadn't even seen her approach him, and his helmet was on, blocking his peripheral vision. He turned to look at her, glad that she'd come to visit him in the Gallows, even at personal risk. The woman in front of him was thin and pale, faint grey circles under her eyes, a general fatigue about her frame. She looked overworked. Her short black hair appeared even messier than he remembered, but otherwise she was the same. When he looked at her waist, he noted that she still carried his dagger.  
  
"How did you know it was me, Marian?" He asked.  
  
"The way you stand. Plus, you know, I asked one of the recruits." She laughed and Wesley laughed with her, surprising himself. It felt like it had been ages since he'd truly laughed, long before they'd come to Kirkwall. There was certainly little laughter in the barracks.  
  
"I am well. How are things for you?"  
  
"Busy as a little beaver that smuggles things." She gave a small laugh at that. "Do beavers smuggle things? No, don't answer." She said, holding up a hand with an amused smirk on her face. "Are the templars treating you well?"  
  
"It is...different from Ferelden, I must admit." Wesley thought about confiding in her, telling her how he didn't like the Kirkwall version of the templars, comprised of zealots, poor youths seeking a bit of money and old men that could be bought and sold for the right amount of coin. No one seemed particularly pious, or really dedicated to the Order, just the oppression of mages and the abuses he'd seen here weren't sitting well with him.  
  
The thought vanished when he looked over her shoulder and saw more of his fellows staring at them. Under his helm, he smiled wryly. They weren't staring at him, he wasn't naive enough to truly think that.  
  
"I just wanted to see you again. It's been a while since we got here, and I've been keeping busy, but I don't forget my friends." Marian stated, her eyes almost challenging him. "We are friends, aren't we, Wesley?"  
  
"Of course we are." Wesley answered. He placed an armored hand on her shoulder, reassuring her of his sincerity since she couldn't see his eyes through the visor. The was something compelling him to reaffirm their relationship, not just sentiment and a shared experience and he cleared his throat before he spoke again, searching for the proper words.  
  
"It's been good to catch up. Maybe we can talk more on one of my free weekends. Someplace else." Wesley offered, letting his hand drop from her shoulder. She seemed to understand his meaning and asked nothing else, but simply looked at him with those startlingly blue eyes for a moment before answering.  
  
"I'd like that." Marian said, smiling before she walked away from him.  
  
He watched her go, a dark grey cloak billowing out behind her as she strode off. Her walk was purposeful, strong, not the walk of a woman that could be ignored. It reminded him of Aveline and he missed her all over again, sorrow and an acute sense of loneliness filling him as he watched Hawke disappear into the distance.


	3. For Coffee (Marian)

Marian didn't think he was really clueless enough to wear the templar armor on his day off, especially not to a place that was so far into Lowtown, it might as well have been part of the undercity. But there he was, Wesley, coming towards her in full templar plate as she sat in the back of a dim shop that served thick, Rivaini style coffee. It was a good place to meet to be discreet.  
  
Except if you came in full templar plate.  
  
Her mind whirred, trying to make the situation work. Already the owner was staring at her, his wrinkled hand staying close to the dagger on his belt. Athenril assured her that this little place was well enough out of the way that even a templar wouldn't be scrutinized too closely but Marian didn't want to test the patrons, who looked like an unruly lot. She thought of something just in time and stood up to greet him as he approached the dirty table where she sat, two small cups of thick coffee opposite each other. Marian gave him a wide smile, throwing her arms around him and embracing him as she spoke into his ear.  
  
"Wes, why the armor? Don't answer, just play along, otherwise all the eyes in here will remain on us."  
  
She extracted herself from him, still smiling and kissed him on the cheek, her hand combing through his dark hair in a gesture that was far too intimate for their relationship. Wesley stepped backwards in shock, barely able to catch himself in time and hug her again. Her body was warm in his arms, and he could feel her pulse under her heavy, velvet robes. It skittered rapidly, elevated, and he frowned into her ragged hair. She wasn't scared, but not calm by any means. He had misjudged this badly, but did his best to recover, smiling back at her when they broke apart.  
  
"We can talk without being overheard, but the owner and most of the patrons aren't really keen on templars, so they'll be keeping an eye on you." She explained as he sat down. He looked around the room, making sure there weren't eyes here that didn't need to see him being kissed by a young woman in a dark cafe.  
  
Her eyes followed his, taking in the motley assortment of people that populated the room. In the corner were three elves, sitting together in tatty clothes, talking in hushed, dark voices. A dwarf at another table was sitting on a woman's lap, his head nuzzled between her rather generous breasts, a rapturous look gracing his face. Two men that looked like Fereldan refugees sat closest to them, the pair trying to sober up before they went home to their wives.  
  
She took a sip of the thick coffee in front of her, the tiny shot still warm. It would have her up all night, which is what she wanted. They had a patrol guarding the unloading one of Athenril's shipments and it could take a while. Marian sat forward in her chair, leaning on the table as she waited for the buzzing to start coursing through her system.  
  
"You wanted to talk to me before, but couldn't at the Gallows."  
  
"Yes." Wesley said, taking a small sip of his own coffee. He blanched and then put the cup down.  
  
"What's going on?" Her eyes narrowed, just the tiniest bit as she assessed at him. "You're unhappy?" He shook carefully his head, unsure of where to begin.  
  
"These templars, well you've heard of the Knight-Commander?" Marian nodded, but didn't interrupt. "She is the law and order here, many here are fanatically devoted to her."  
  
"But you aren't."  
  
"I am not. The Grand Cleric does not step in here, and we are nearly free from Chantry oversight. It wasn't like this in Ferelden." He muttered, rubbing a thoughtful hand carefully over his face.  
  
He had stubble, which she'd never seen before, she'd always seen him clean-shaven. It suited him, the dark hair growing on his jaw and chin bringing out his cheekbones. She stayed quiet, waiting for him to elaborate. There was still something he wanted to say, something beneath the surface. One hand sought out her coffee again and she downed the rest as Wesley stared at a spot over her shoulder to collect his thoughts.  
  
"A mage killed herself last week at the Gallows." He whispered to her.  
  
Marian gasped, sitting back from him and pressing a hand over her frowning mouth. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she willed herself not to cry and draw more attention to them. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the Fereldans watching them, still pretending to be drunker than they were.  
  
"It's a sin against the Maker to commit suicide, but I think sometimes he might understand." Wesley sighed, looking absolutely heartbroken. "She'd been beaten, for what I don't know. When I tried to ask about it, all anyone said was that she deserved it. I don't know what she did, but no one could have deserved anything like that. She was covered from head to foot in bruises and cuts and they refused her a healer."  
  
"I caught many apostates in Ferelden, served the Order without doubt. But here, I can't for the life of me understand what motivates these people. They seem dedicated to something dark here, and I don't know what it is. It certainly isn't the Maker."  
  
They sat together in silence for a while, both of them thinking over what Wesley had revealed. It was so alarming to Marian, and it scared her more than if an abomination had come through the door. Abominations didn't usually use doors though, she thought, but there was a first time for everything.  
  
That Wesley, so devoted that he wanted to catch apostates as he fled for his life during the Blight, was having trouble within the Order concerned her. Her friend looked his weariness, and she realized how awful it must be to be at odds with his fellows. Marian took his hand across the table and he let her, her face still unhappy even as she tried to offer him comfort. She wondered how he was dealing with the loss of his wife, but with the death of a mage fresh in his mind, it felt indelicate to ask.  
  
"I froze a naked dwarf the other day." Marian said out of nowhere, in an attempt to lighten the mood. Wesley chuckled, the joke bringing his attention back to her.  
  
"You lead an interesting life." He commented, hesitantly taking another sip of his putrid coffee.  
  
"I do. But these are strange times. Anyway, the dwarf was drunk or something and we tried to reason with him, to get him to give up the goods. But then the bugger starts waving his um, manly bits, around to distract us and then he tried to run away with some silks that I needed so I shot him with a smidgen of ice." Marian recounted, Wesley face growing less serious as she continued to talk. "Well more than a smidgen. Dwarves need a little extra shot of magic sometimes."  
  
Wesley gave into full on laughter, and Marian joined him. His face was fantastically transformed by the laughter, losing the haunted look he'd worn since they'd met in Ferelden. It surprised her that he looked so young when he laughed and she wondered how old he was. It was strange to her that she considered him a friend, a templar that she really didn't know, but trusted wholeheartedly. They spoke for only a little while longer, the templar asking after her family and enjoying a story about Carver coming in so drunk he thought he was speaking Orlesian because he'd started talking in a ridiculous accent.  
  
Exiting the cafe, Marian led Wesley away from the door by the hand, keeping up their pretense.  
  
"I'm sorry." Marian apologized again, but she grinned up at Wesley. She kind of liked making him squirm and he was still looking uncomfortable at her attempt to make them seem like a couple. Her hand was still in his and to anyone watching it looked like they were two lovers reluctantly parting. She stroked his thumb with her own, carefully brushing the top of his gauntlet. "You're going to have to kiss me goodbye." She informed him. An odd expression crossed his face, a mix of emotions that were as hard to read as they were fleeting.  
  
Without warning, Wesley pushed her against the nearby wall of the building, a cloud of dust puffing out from behind her as she collided with the cold stone. Marian squeaked in surprise, her eyes widening at Wesley, who chuckled at the sound. He brought his mouth to her neck, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke.  
  
"I can't kiss you, I'm a married man." Wesley said, his voice low and rumbling in her ear. His lips were nearly touching he skin, his head blocking the view from the cafe. Anyone would looking would think he was kissing her. Marian tilted her neck away from him, exposing more flesh to his mouth, unconsciously willing him to kiss her. "But this should be enough to keep anyone from doubting us, Maker forgive me. Next time, I'll be sure to wear leathers."  
  
Marian whimpered, his hand still pinning her shoulder to the wall. Heat was spreading through her body and she had to remind herself that she was in public, with Wesley of all people. Wesley, who had committed Bethany's soul to the Maker. Wesley, templar Wesley, who still considered himself married. That comment brought a pinprick of sadness through her fog and she latched onto it, trying to concentrate again.  
  
"Wesley, next time," Marian gulped, trying to stop her body from betraying her. It was absurd, she didn't even like Wesley in a romantic way, and he clearly wasn't comfortable with her. He still felt too near to her, too close, his body too warm next to hers. "You pick the place." Marian finished in a hoarse voice, and beside her, he issued a husky chuckle.  
  
"Maybe I will." He answered, straightening up. She nodded at him, the gesture jerky and awkward. Beneath her robes her body still felt like jelly, and she thought about how long it had been since she'd slept with someone, anyone.  
  
He smiled sheepishly at her before leaving, as if he'd really been kissing her. Marian stayed where he'd pinned her to the wall, bound only by her thoughts and missing his warmth. If she'd had any money, she probably would have gone to the Blooming Rose and let them work off her frustrations, but instead she made her way back to Gamlen's house, hoping to pass the time before her job tonight. Killing idiots on the docks would be almost as satisfying as she imagined kissing Wesley would be. Almost.


	4. At the Gallows (Wesley)

Sunlight streamed into the courtyard in the Gallows, making the grey stone appear almost white in the brilliant light, the air around Wesley filled with the jarring metallic clang of armor and weapons meeting as he watched two recruits spar. He loved sparring, and Wesley closed his hazel eyes, breathing in deeply as he cleared his mind for his own bout. The smells of the oil and polish used to maintain their weapons and armor were nearly blotted out as the fighting continued, the musk of sweat overpowering it. Sparring was one of the few things about Kirkwall that Wesley actually liked. They took great pride in their templars, and the Order was more centralized than anything in Ferelden, resulting in a very organized combat training schedule.  
  
Armor creaked and he could hear panting as those fighting tried to move quickly, dodging the blows they were exchanging. He was assigned to train this morning, then take an afternoon patrol outside the Gallows. The excitement in the early part of the day suited him, it was harder for him to endure the wait otherwise.  
  
It made him miss Aveline. They'd always sparred together, the two of them trying to best each other. Whenever Aveline won, as she often did, she made a point to tell Wesley where she'd gained the advantage, and what she'd exploited. It was an exercise that helped them talk about more than just tactics. Maker knows Aveline got tongue-tied at first if they didn't have a blade between them. Things got easier as they got to know each other, and a good fight always helped him organize his thoughts, especially if there had was something troubling him.  
  
Unfortunately it was only Aveline he wanted to talk to, to hear her no-nonsense take on the situation, and feel validated in his assessment of the mess that comprised the Order. He missed her counsel more than he could effectively articulate, the best friend he'd ever had, no longer there to share his thoughts. In the months that passed, the missing had become something more manageable than it had been at first, but the hard knot in his chest still ached and he woke up nights cursing darkspawn, unable to save his wife even in dreams. The relentless pain didn't truly leave him, and he was lonely and sad, his isolation compounded by his growing dislike for the templar order in Kirkwall.  
  
Wesley wondered at times if he would have been better off working with Marian and Carver, forsaking his duty to the templars. In his heart he knew that he would never have made that choice, but it didn't stop his mind from contemplating a world he had more freedom, even if he had to engage in distasteful jobs.  
  
It was months after the _cafe incident_ , as he'd come to refer to it in his head, and Marian returned to the Gallows as he stood for his afternoon watch. It was well over a year since they'd come to Kirkwall, and he knew the Hawkes no longer had to work off the debt they'd incurred gaining entry to the city. Maybe she worked, he thought to himself, wondering she did with her free time, and why she hadn't come back to the Gallows sooner. Wesley missed her company, but hadn't arranged another meeting since he'd seen her in the winter.  
  
Carver was there first, finding him as he stood on duty, talking to him as his sister spoke with another mage, Tobrius. He wondered what Marian could possibly want with the man, but he didn't ask questions of Carver, knowing how any mention of his sister rankled him. Instead Wesley watched her from a distance, she was wearing a combination of a some sort of sleeveless vest and trousers now that the weather was warmer. Some vague appreciation of her attractive, slender body crossed his mind, but he chose not to dwell on the thought.  
  
He wanted to speak with her privately, to tell her about how things had been at the Gallows since they'd last talked. Wesley didn't regret confiding in her, but now wondered if he'd burdened her with something she could have done without knowing. He felt helpless to stop the injustices, but he knew his place. Earlier he'd heard a few mages having a whispered conversation with a new apprentice. They were telling him who the "good" templars were, and he'd heard his name amongst those them. It almost made this service tolerable, knowing that the people he protected valued his presence, even if he protected he mostly protected them from their own powers.  
  
"Oy, Wesley, did you hear me?" Carver asked in a belligerent tone.  
  
"I'm sorry." Wesley said, absently turning back to the young man. "I was distracted."  
  
"I see." Carver said, followed Wesley's gaze towards his sister. "We're going to the Deep Roads, as soon as we can raise the coin to buy into the expedition."  
  
"The Deep Roads? Looking for treasure? Carver, surely you know how much of a long-shot that is." Wesley questioned the boy, who looked very enthusiastic about the whole venture.  
  
"Well, what else can we do? Not a lot of jobs for Fereldans."  
  
"What about picking up a trade?"  
  
"A Fereldan apprentice? Right, so in a year I can work my way up to pissboy." Carver sneered, and Wesley realized the truth in his words. Most Kirkwallers spat on Fereldans in the streets still, resenting their continued presence in the city even after the Blight was over.  
  
"True." Wesley conceded, still watching Marian out of the corner of his eye. She seemed to have gotten a package from Tobrius.  
  
"If you're looking for work, I've heard something from a friend in the city guard, a man named Donnic." Wesley continued, turning fully towards Carver. "He's said something about bandits on Sundermount, but it's not templar business. Maybe you can help him out, bound to be coin in it."  
  
"I'll mention it to my sister." Carver said, looking hopeful. The young man stretched, standing up taller as his sister and her friends came towards them.  
  
Marian was making her way over the two of them, a dwarf and a tattooed female elf trailing in her wake. Dalish, Wesley suspected and was hardly able to stop himself from shivering. He'd hunted a Dalish apostate once, the tattoos and markings different from the one on the young woman in front of him, but similar. The man had given him one of the fiercest fights of his life, and he still hadn't caught him in the end. It took him weeks in an infirmary to recover.  
  
"Wesley." Marian said, treating him to a wide, bright smile as she came over to where he stood with Carver. She looked healthier than at their last meeting, the tiredness gone from her visage, but he guessed without work, there wasn't much keeping her from resting. "May I introduce you to my friends? This is Varric Tethras and Merrill."  
  
"Nice to meet you all." Wesley said politely.  
  
Varric nodded at him, sizing up the templar. The elf smiled at him and brushed something off her tunic in an almost graceful manner. Carver's eyes followed her movements, and Wesley smiled inwardly as Carver continued to stare, oblivious to the intensity of his gaze. She had a staff on her back and Wesley wondered if Marian was tempting fate by bringing another apostate to the Gallows.  
  
The funny thing about staves were that everyone carried them, making it near impossible to be sure if someone was a mage. He'd never had the honor of going to Orzammar, but it was his understanding the every dwarf in their government, the Assembly, carried a staff, as well as many prominent nobles. People passed them down through families, and here in Kirkwall, the upper classes commissioned them as fancy, deadly, lyrium-infused status symbols. The Order had long since given up trying to discern whether people with staves were actually mages, especially since mages didn't need them to use magic. A true mage wishing to stay hidden was much more likely not to be wielding a staff.  
  
"I'll come by and talk to you again sometime. Or you could come to the Hanged Man. I'm there a lot with Varric." Marian suggested, her eyes trying to convey a message he didn't quite understand, before they all left the Gallows. She nodded curtly at him, her brother and companions trailing in her wake as they walked away.  
  
Perhaps she was still angry at him for how they'd last parted, and he grimaced, aware that it hadn't been his finest hour. He should have just given in and kissed her, but at the time he couldn't bring himself to do it, the very thought felt as if it would besmirch Aveline's memory. Even over a year after her death, he wasn't sure if he could kiss anyone, but the idea was no longer as repellent to him as it had been. In fact, if he were to kiss anyone, Marian would be at the top of the list. That realization didn't sit well with Wesley, who was still watching her hips sway into the distance.  
  
The thought of going to the infamous Lowtown tavern made him a little anxious, it was generally the type of place he avoided. Rowdy, drunken crowds always irritated him, and they weren't usually happy to see a templar, even if he didn't wear his uniform everywhere as Knight-Commander Meredith requested. In his chest, his heart sped at the thought of seeing her again sometime soon and he knew he would venture to the place, at least once if she were to be found there.


	5. A Private Meeting (Marian)

The cloyingly sweet scent of the perfumed room was starting to get to Marian as she patiently waited, smoothing her skirts as she did. Nervous hands looked for something else to do while she sat, and she found herself fiddling with an errant thread, carefully teasing it for a momentary distraction. Her head hurt a little, but she suspected that once she went outdoors into the reasonably fresh air, the pulsing ache residing at the base of her neck would diminish.  
  
"Are you alright dear?" Her friend asked and Marian nodded, reassuring him as he left the room. Without company she felt exposed and even more nervous.  
  
Marian had ventured to see Wesley again, back to the hated Gallows, because he had never turned up at the Hanged Man after her first invitation. It was plain that he was unhappy, but weren't they all in Kirkwall? The Deep Roads almost seemed like a vacation compared to the city of chains and she longed to go forth on her adventure. Marian thought of Wesley, more than she probably should as she went around Kirkwall, trying to earn the coin needed for her expedition. She'd gone back to tell him that the guard they'd helped, Donnic, had been named captain after they'd exposed the former Guard-Captain as a thief, trading city secrets to criminal contacts.  
  
After she'd assured him that she was to be found at the Hanged Man most nights, Wesley had made a hasty visit. The man had a hunted look in his eyes as they spoke in hushed voices, the flat of her hand resting on the chest of his plate armor, unintentionally intimate. Anders glared at the pair from the table where he'd interrupted their Diamondback game, a white-knuckled hand gripping the mug of ale he'd been sipping for most of the night. The interested gazes of Isabela and Varric studied them closely, and Marian could feel their eyes on the back of her neck, silently taking in every detail of the conversation they strained to overhear. Quickly, they'd arranged to meet in the most discreet place she could think of in that moment.  
  
Which is why she was sitting in the Blooming Rose, waiting for Wesley.  
  
Ostensibly, she was here to call on Jethann, as was her custom. She'd only ever slept with the violet-eyed elf once, when she'd first started investigating Ninette de Carrac's disappearance. After the sad resolution, she'd come back to the tell the elf about the fate of the woman he was so fond of, but she couldn't leave him. So she'd come back, spending time with him every so often to just talk. It was extremely informative, not to mention useful to have a close friend working at the busiest whorehouse in Kirkwall. The Rose was the perfect place to come and talk without being too closely scrutinized. Nearly everyone visited the place, from the seneschal to her Uncle Gamlen, and no one worried about being seen, only serviced.  
  
After talking with Jethann, Marian had booked a double session, telling Madame Lusine she had a guest that wanted to join them. The matron took the extra gold with a glint in her eye, and a curt nod. She wished she could be downstairs when Jethann met Wesley, just to see the look on the templar's face when he met the cheeky elf.  
  
The thought of meeting Wesley here was a little inappropriate, but that's what Marian liked about it.  
  
"Marian." Wesley burst through the door to the room with Jethann sauntering behind him, the blush still high on the templar's cheeks.  
  
"Hello Wes. Have a seat." Marian motioned to a chair she'd placed across from her, while Jethann joined her on the garish bed. A feather puffed out from underneath the mattress as he sat down next to her, floating to the floor dreamily, coming to rest at her feet.  
  
"He's a skittish one." Jethann purred in her ear from her side.  
  
"It's his first time here." Marian informed him, although she'd never asked Wesley, just assumed. It would be a little out of character for him to frequent the place, though she couldn't fault him for a few visits to ease his loneliness.  
  
"Yes, it is." Wesley huffed, a little upset with Marian for sending that impertinent man downstairs to greet him. "Why are we here?" He asked, curious about her choice of venue.  
  
"Jethann assures me that it is one of the most secure places in Kirkwall to have a private conversation."  
  
"Oh my, you can't even begin to imagine the secrets these walls have heard." Jethann said, giving a bawdy giggle as he inspected Wesley.  
  
"Why is he still here?" Wesley asked in a voice more confused than accusatory, returning Jethann's inquisitive look.  
  
"I come with the room." The elf quipped and Marian laughed.  
  
"Jethann is a friend, and insightful. You can speak freely. Is there more trouble at the Gallows?" Marian inquired. "You looked awful the last time we met."  
  
Wesley threaded a hand frustratedly through his black hair, mussing it until it looked as if he'd deliberately made it disheveled. The look suited him, and Marian noticed how different he'd become since they'd gotten to Kirkwall, shedding his clean-cut image for something a little grittier and much more handsome in her opinion.  
  
"There is the feeling of something brewing, dissension in the ranks, but I don't know who or what yet." Wesley confessed. Guilt clawed at her, thinking of Ser Thrask and how she'd recently helped his group of apostates kill Ser Karras. The older templar had been saddened that it had come to a slaughter, but he had fought alongside her, allowing the Starkhaven mages to flee.  
  
Wesley sat with his chin propped up on calloused hands, thinking and not really looking at either her or Jethann seated across from him.  
  
"There was a blood mage in the Circle. All mages are locked down presently while we investigate her death."  
  
"She's dead?" Marian asked.  
  
"Yes, she must have known she was to be questioned by the Knight-Commander, because she fought the guards that came to escort her." Marian snorted at the word 'escort' but otherwise stayed quiet. "What she did was awful, her spells made the men as defenseless as if they weren't wearing armor."  
  
"Were you hurt?" Anxiety tinged her voice as she asked the question, her eyes searching for new scars on his person.  
  
"No, I wasn't among those in the fighting. I did try to help when I heard the commotion, but I got there in time to see Knight-Captain Cullen bringing a sword down on her head." He stated in a flat voice, and Marian winced at the image.  
  
"But it's these kinds of events that make mages turn to forbidden magics. They think they will be next to be dragged away, knife at their throat. People outside the Circle sympathize with them, making some templars doubt their duty or others too zealous. But we can't be divided now, there is something much more dangerous in Kirkwall. We should be extra vigilant in protecting the mages, the Veil is too thin here." Wesley rambled, his thoughts spilling from him freely and she realized that he had no other confidant, no outlet besides his few conversations with her.  
  
"If I may?" Jethann asked, and Marian nodded at him.  
  
"You probably should talk with some of your recruits, they're the youngest and most impressionable, likely to be freer with their information. I haven't uh, been treated to a templar in a while, but there are plenty of them that come in here and they gossip like crazy. If you're looking for leads or information."  
  
Both Marian and Wesley contemplated his advice, Wesley sitting back in the chair and running a hand over his chin, absorbed in thought. Marian stole a glance at him through her lashes, and upon seeing his closed eyes, she allowed herself to look freely at him. Her gaze traveled down the column of his neck, following the lines of his body, appreciating his form. There was more muscle there than before, and he looked more powerful, his body trained. She looked away quickly when she saw Jethann smirking at her, his eyes watching her as she inspected Wesley.  
  
"What do you think is causing the rift?" Marian asked, after clearing her throat to refocus her attention.  
  
"The Knight-Commander and First Enchanter are polarizing people, and the First Enchanter is the much more popular figure." Wesley said without hesitation. "He creates sympathy for the mages amongst the populace of Kirkwall, who then make it even harder for the templars. Orsino is dashing and personable, people listen to him and he offers his opinions and counsel freely."  
  
"Why shouldn't he?" Marian asked, an edge creeping into her voice.  
  
"It isn't that he shouldn't, it's that when he does the Knight-Commander demands retribution and the mages are further punished. By pulling at the noose he makes it ever tighter." Wesley explained. "It is the popular support for mages and the view of templars as jailors that divides the Order. I can understand why people like Orsino question, but he offers no solutions."  
  
Marian frowned instead of answering, wondering how far this division would escalate. The mages would surely turn to more desperate and dark means of gaining power if the Order kept pushing in on them, but the Order couldn't ignore blood magic. Chantry guidance was needed more than ever, but the Grand Cleric seemed determined to skillfully ignore the situation and hope that it resolved itself. It was Marian's experience that a wound left untreated was more likely to get infected, but that was a debate for another time. The minutes left allotted to them were quickly sliding away, drifting into a lost chasm of wasted time and she still had questions.  
  
"You've been concerned since we came here, yet you have no evidence of anything, and you know nothing of those who make plans in the Order?" She asked.  
  
"Nothing yet. I fear I don't have much else to say, just a need to share my burden." Wesley sighed, looking at her with weary eyes. "I am sorry Marian, I just need a friend right now. I'm so frustrated that if there was a way to leave the Order, I'd probably take it in this moment."  
  
She reached out and touched his arm lightly, smiling grimly at him. It took nearly all of her willpower not to kiss him, to cradle his face in her hands and offer meaningless comforts with things other than words.  
  
"We are friends, and if you need me to share your burden, I am here. But I fear our time is almost up." Marian informed him, glancing over at Jethann for confirmation. The elf nodded at her, and Wesley understood, gathering himself up to leave.  
  
"I'm close to getting the money for the Deep Roads expedition." Marian quickly told him as he stood. Wesley fixed her with an intense glare, crossing his massive arms over his chest as he did.  
  
"Is this really worth it?" He asked her sharply, turning an annoyed expression on her. The rebuke was clear, and Marian drew herself up, all her sympathies for him fleeing as her anger grew.  
  
"Would any of your fellows hesitate to force me into the Circle if I don't have a title or status?" She shot back at him, knowing the answer. "I'm sorry if it is distasteful to you, but I don't have many other options. You've just finished telling me the horrors of the Gallows, but then you question me!"  
  
"There has to be something better."  
  
"Suggestions?" She asked in a snarky tone, knowing that he wouldn't be able to provide her with any.  
  
"I just worry for you." Wesley admitted in a defeated voice. "We outran the Blight, and heading back into the home of the darkspawn seems like an unnecessary risk."  
  
"It'll be fine." Marian said, her voice softening at his concern. "It's still a while off, there are other matters to attend to before we head out. Besides, there's safety in numbers." She reminded him, and at that he shook his head, but argued no more with her.  
  
"Just don't go without saying goodbye." Wesley begged, his eyes full of the emotion his steady voice didn't betray.  
  
"Of course not." Hawke answered, tossing her hair out of her eyes and giving him a small smile. He didn't seem mollified, but nodded at her before leaving, thanking Jethann in an awkward goodbye.  
  
She stayed in her place on the bed, waiting for him to exit the building before she would leave. Jethann silently sitting next to her as he had for most of the clandestine meeting.  
  
"He's got it bad for you." The elf remarked once the door closed behind Wesley. He turned his violet eyes on her and looked her up and down before continuing. "And it looks like you return the sentiment." He mused.  
  
"Don't be silly." Marian said brusquely, standing up and brushing off her robes so she didn't have to look Jethann in the eye or face the truth written in his skeptical features. Maybe she did have feelings for Wesley, but she wasn't sure about how he felt about her. She wasn't in the business of blurting out her every emotion, especially to templars that could imprison her. No matter their friendship, the inequity in their positions still made her cautious.  
  
"Mmmhmm." The smug mutter was all that Jethann said in response, walking her to the door. "Don't let that handsome man get away." He whispered as he kissed her on the cheek before she left.  
  
Outside she gulped down the air in a hungry, desperate way, trying to clear her lungs as well as her mind. The pain she'd held at bay during her meeting burst through and her head throbbed as she slowly made her way home. The thought of Wesley, so deeply unhappy in the Gallows gnawed at her, and she decided that once she came back from the Deep Roads, she'd try to find a way to help him.


	6. Deep Roads (Wesley)

He hated _everything_ about the Gallows. It wasn't something he admitted easily, but he detested Kirkwall. Living in a former slave prison was absolutely wretched and the Order here was nothing, nothing like in Ferelden. Wesley was forced to watch a mage made tranquil, a punishment for speaking out against the abuses lavished upon the man. The livid, poisonous epithets that were screamed at the group of indistinguishable templars by the man with defiant blue eyes, were nothing compared to the high-pitched, blood-curling screams he'd descended into as the brand drew closer to his forehead.

Just the very thought made a shiver run down the full length of his body, and for the rest of his days, Wesley knew he'd never be lucky enough to forget that sound. Behind the eyes of the mage something dimmed and the vibrancy died, emotion fleeing and all the fervid cries abruptly fell silent as the magic was pressed to his forehead. When the ritual was complete, the sunburst marking on the once unwilling mage's forehead left behind as a threat, evidence of the all-mighty power of the Knights of Kirkwall. The newly Tranquil man was docile and quiet, not even trying to leave his chair after the bindings were removed.

The Knight-Captain was so busy trying make sense of the Knight-Commander's overzealous pursuit of any hint of a mage that the troops below them went wild, disgusting Wesley. There was no honor, no discipline amongst these people and he could see how easily the seeds of dissension could be sewn. He was a pious man, and believed in the words of the Maker, but this was a perversion of scripture, to be certain. No god could possibly want any of His people treated this way, the mages denied their basic human rights and given bloody lips and blackened eyes for even daring to look askance at their jailors. In his mind, a tiny thought sparked and he was unable to bury it, no matter how hard he tried.

"I'm glad I never exposed Marian to this."

He thought it more and more, especially since she'd been gone. She and her brother had done as she'd threatened and gone into the Deeps with Varric Tethras and their expedition. Every night, he recited the Maker's blessings and thought only of her safety, praying that she return quickly.

Their goodbye hadn't been long or even especially momentous, but he replayed it in his mind. Unexpectedly, he'd gone into the Chantry seeking solace and found her there. She'd been in a high pew above the Grand Cleric, just sitting with her hands in her lap, head slightly bowed.

Part of him was glad that she was going, a new report had come in and it featured the name Hawke heavily, infuriating the Knight-Commander. Even though Marian had assisted them in finding blood mage recruits, the Knight-Commander disliked her persistent meddling in the affairs of the templars. It was one thing for one of her vigilant knights to find blood magic, and quite another to have an intrepid outsider finding the corruption"Marian." He called her name softly, sliding onto the pew next to her. Anxious eyes turned up towards him, and then relaxed when she realized who'd said her name. He was sitting close enough to her that he could smell her hair, the clean scent of almonds mixing with the candle wax and incense hanging in the air from the earlier services.

"I was just going to go to the Gallows to find you." She smiled over at Wesley, creating a trill of excitement in him as he grinned back, but her restless hands were unable to be still, betraying her continued bout of nervousness. A vein in her pale neck throbbed erratically, making her look even more vulnerable than when she'd been praying. "We're all ready to go."

"Are you certain you don't want me to go along? I am sure I could take leave."

"No, it's alright. Carver is going with us, and Anders - he's more skilled at healing than I." She noted absently, looking around as she spoke. Anders was a Grey Warden and for that reason alone, Wesley didn't pursue the mage. Wardens had their own burdens, and if he'd killed even a single darkspawn, it was Wesley's opinion that he deserved the freedom to run his clinic, even if the rest of the Order didn't agree with him.

"Don't be worried." Marian pleaded, and he hastily rearranged his features, changing the thin line of his lips into something closer to neutral but the effort was too late. "I know how you feel about this venture, that you don't want us to go. Neither does Mother, but well, I can't sit here and do nothing. If it wasn't the Deep Roads, I'm sure I'd be part of something else, because working odd jobs doesn't quite cut it."

This time he was conscious of the grimace as it crossed his face, but he said nothing as his mind mulled over her words. Lowtown was no place for her or her family, yet they endured there for lack of a better place. He hadn't seen Leandra since his one, brief visit, but none of them seemed to be faring well since they'd arrived and their mother worst of all. Though he worried for Hawke, he realized that she spoke the truth, if not the Deep Roads she would have found something just as dangerous and potentially lucrative to be a part of, and that thought didn't ease his mind at all.

"You can take care of yourself, I know that, but..." He trailed off, his eyes unable to meet hers any longer as he spoke. Silence stretched between them as he collected his thoughts. "I wouldn't be much of a friend if I didn't at least offer to try to keep you...and Carver away from harm. At least allow me this, I will look in on Leandra while you're gone." He proposed, wanting to help.

"I think she'd like that, and I'd be grateful." Marian replied, gracing him with a small, fluttery grin as she did.

"Be safe, Marian." He'd offered, unable to articulate the rest of the thoughts swimming around his head.

"I'll be so rich when I come back. I'll have a fancy dinner party and get you drunk on the finest Antivan brandy I can find." She jested, lifting a hand to caress his face, dusting her fingers across his cheek in goodbye.

Hazel eyes fell shut at her touch, relishing the heat of her dainty fingers as they ghosted over his face. Her stroke was slight, he was barely able to hold onto her warmth once it was over, but the trail burned across the sensitive skin and he craved nothing but the continuation of her touch. It was the first time she'd ventured to touch him so intimately since they'd pretended to be lovers in that cafe, but this time felt charged, the atmosphere between them altered.

"Just come back. We'll talk about the party later." Wesley said upon opening his eyes, his thick voice nearly caught in his throat. The words came out low and rumbling,the emotion behind them so potent that it turned the simple wish into a command, so unlike his normal speech.

"See you soon, Wesley." Marian said softly, and stood to leave the Chantry.

"I hope so." He whispered to her retreating backVisiting Leandra was no hardship for Wesley and he rather enjoyed calling upon her, taking the woman for walks to get out of the stuffy shack, talking at length with Marian's mother. Her company was a pleasant change, her demeanor putting him at ease almost instantly.

"How are you dealing, Ser Wesley?" Leandra asked him cautiously during one of his early visits. It was disconcerting, the way her nose was the exact same as Marian's, just a little longer.

"Please, Mistress Amell, just Wesley."

"Then you must call me Leandra."

"Alright." He smiled. "Leandra it is. I confess, I don't find my duty as agreeable here in Kirkwall as it was in Ferelden, but one cannot simply forsake a sworn burden." The words were carefully chosen, he had no desire to scare the woman with the truth. Last night he'd heard the wailing of a mage being beaten as he tried to sleep, the screams hanging in the air that was ripe with the tang of blood and the pungent, acrid smell of fearful sweat.

They'd talked, and found her growing more maternal towards him with each visit. He liked Leandra, and she seemed lonely, his visits filling a void even more evident now that her children weren't around to provide a ready distraction. Trips to Lowtown became more frequent, and Wesley took the chance to check in with her whenever he could, looking for comfort and word of Marian.

Mounting the dusty steps, he'd come to call on Leandra for the first time in two days when he heard her cries through the door. Fearing the worst, he entered without knocking, Gamlen's head jerking up at him with an offended expression on his face. Dust rained down on him as he slammed the door shut with one armored foot, blotting out the noise of the slums, along with a good portion of sunlight.

"You're back!" He exclaimed, his heart lifting at the sight of Marian's messy head next to her mother's. She didn't respond to his words, and there was something amiss. Leandra's face was a mask of grief, her crumpled form huddled on the floor.

"Leandra! What's wrong?" He asked Marian, looking around. "Where's Carver?"

At his question Leandra's sobbing increased, the woman hiccuping and crying in equal measure, unable to be consoled by her daughter's efforts. A sinking feeling filled Wesley and he spoke no more, simply setting himself on the floor in front of Leandra, offering his own comforts. After several long minutes filled with nothing but the devastated sobs of her mother, he helped Marian put Leandra to bed, the elder woman had exhausted herself.

When they'd exited the room, shutting the door carefully behind them, Marian embraced him, arms wrapped tightly around him, despite the armor. Wesley reeled backwards at the force of the hug, taking him a moment to adjust to her nearness. Sadness seeped from her, the deep sorrow cloaked around her pale figure had been overshadowed earlier by Leandra's shocked grief.

"Carver got tainted. If not for Anders, he'd be dead for sure." Marian explained from someplace near his shoulder. Wesley opened his mouth to ask, but then stopped as she continued talking, unaware that she'd pre-empted him. "The Wardens took him. I don't even know if he's okay."

Wesley hugged her back, staying silent, his large hand tenderly stroking her back as he did, wary of his own armor, though she didn't seem to care. Pressed to him, the smell of the earthen, dirty scent of the Deep Roads that still clung to her robes and hair wafted upwards, but he didn't mind it. Having Marian in his arms was more than enough, and he didn't care how filthy she was, although he shared in her sadness for her brother. He could feel the her thin body shuddering against his as she cried, soundless tears flowing down her face.


	7. A New Appointment (Marian)

The seneschal was in a particularly venomous mood as Lady Hawke finished her business in the Keep. Marian could just hear him seething as she walked out of the Viscount's office, and didn't bother to suppress her grin. Pressing her pursed lips to her hand, she blew him a kiss through the open door, watching with amusement as he sputtered and turned red, annoyed at her cheek. It gave her pleasure to watch him squirm, and there were so few things that did that for her anymore.

Even Bran couldn't get to her, not with the mood she was in. After all that had gone wrong, at least something was going right. Annoying the seneschal was just a delightful bonus.

It wasn't her place to go to the Gallows and inform Wesley of the coup she'd scored for them both, but she had been able to send a note with the messenger dispatched by the Viscount, scrawling a weak "Congratulations" on the along with her name.

Frowning, she remembered that she was needed at home. Mother was there waiting, in the cavernous estate that Marian had purchased as a way of atoning for the debacle of letting her brother go into the Deep Roads. Carver was gone, but they'd had word he'd survived and was a Warden. It gave Marian some comfort that his precious life and considerable skill wouldn't go to waste. That she wouldn't lose another sibling to the darkspawn made her glad, but guilt still weighed heavily on her. At least she'd convinced the Viscount to hear her plan and she'd gotten Wesley out of the Gallows. It was the least she could do for him for comforting Mother while she was gone.

He'd been truly Maker sent, coming by and checking in on them, keeping the Order from being too interested in Marian, even helping her navigate the thick book of paperwork that came with getting the Amell Estate back.

Technically his appointment was Templar Adviser to the City of Kirkwall, part of Meredith's mouthpiece brigade to promote the interests of the Order. Diplomacy wasn't Wesley's most finely honed attribute, he had never held such a position before, but she was sure that he would prefer days in the Viscount's Keep to days standing watch at the Gallows.

"Serah Hawke." Guard-Captain Donnic was heading to the Viscount's office as she was leaving. She liked the man, despite not having much interaction with him. The city guards were always helpful, even respectful to her. Before she'd went into the Deep Roads, she'd cleared out a whole mess of fake guards for them, earning even more of Donnic's thanks.

"Guard-Captain. Always good to see you." Marian said cordially.

"Scuttlebutt has it that our friend Ser Wesley will be joining us at the Keep soon."

"That's correct. It will be grand to have him nearby." Marian gushed, feeling the blush fill her face at the sound of her overly enthusiastic voice. Donnic smiled her at indulgently.

"I'm sure he'll be quite happy here as well." Donnic replied. "I must be off, I'm still on duty, but if you ever need our assistance, let me know." She smiled at the offer briefly, her mind already on other things as she exited the massive double doors into the sunshine of Hightown.

It was such a little thing, easy even, to suggest to the Viscount that he be more accommodating of the largest armed force in the city, especially with the Qunari becoming more vocal, along with their numerous detractors. Distancing Knight-Commander Meredith at the same time as building a bridge was tricky, but by inserting Wesley as an intermediary between the two offices, the Viscount could hear her concerns and address them without dealing with the woman herself.

Which is what Marian had in mind when she suggested it, and the seneschal quickly agreed, seeing the merits of such an appointment. It would certainly mean less yelling directed at him, and that was something Bran could appreciate. He did, however, balk at her choice of Ser Wesley Vallen, a man not even from Kirkwall, but even he couldn't find an argument against him after Marian listed Wesley's qualities and contributions to his Order to the Viscount.

It took her a few days to get back to the Keep, but when she did, Wesley was settling into his office, the door to the half-unpacked space standing open. His dark head was bowed over a pile of papers, too engrossed to notice her standing outside. Hip jutting out, she leaned against the frame of the door, watching him with keen eyes, before alerting him to her presence.

The templar was vastly different when she came to call, the change in demeanor evident. Once tense and taut muscles moved more fluidly under her gaze, hunched shoulders were more relaxed. Wesley looked happy, his stony facade abandoned for a face much freer, displaying his emotions he normally kept to himself. He still wore his templar armor behind the large desk, but his hands were bare, the fingers deftly shuffling. A sensation blossomed within her, something between pride and desire at seeing him there, but Marian pushed it away when she spoke, concentrating on her words to distract her from the warmth coiling in her belly.

"You look good in here." His head snapped up at her voice coming from the doorway, where she stood propped against the shining wood as she watched him rummage through a pile of papers.

"I can't thank you enough." Wesley replied, his face displaying his gratitude. Standing up, he carefully set his papers down and moved from behind the desk.

"It's been so good to get out of the Gallows. I still have duties there, but my primary focus is here. In fact, I might even have time to follow you around Kirkwall, on special assignment for the Templar Order, of course."

"Of course." Marian agreed, his droll expression making her smirk across the room at him. "So long as the Order remains uninterested in me." She said, the lightness of her tone making the comment seem almost incidental, but he understood the meaning. Venturing further in, she moved towards one of the guest chairs in the office, but Wesley stepped into her path before she could take a seat.

"Their eyes lay elsewhere." He reassured her.

Without warning, he descended upon her, sweeping her up as he spun her in around in a circle, her feet leaving the ground with the force of his powerful arms holding her up, pressing her to his chest. Once her initial surprise subsided, she enjoyed the heady, dizzying sensation, feeling playful, bur trapped securely in his grip. The stream of giggles that came from her mouth barely registered as hers, sounding nothing like her own voice. But it had to be her, because she could hardly get out his name to shakily protest the whimsical swinging.

"Wes!" Marian cried, the name breathy and intimate, couched in her laughter. Her arms tightened their grip on him, as much as she able to with the armor between them, both wanting to be kept safe and close to his body.

He continued to swing her, but she could feel him stagger slightly as he spun around again, the office whirring around her in a blur of mostly brown hues as she laughed with her head tipped close to his. His laughter, deep and resonant, joined the chorus of hers in the room, and for a moment she felt light and carefree, infectious enthusiasm taking them both.

"Ahem. Ser Wesley." Guard-Captain Donnic was standing in the doorway to Wesley's office, looking suitably embarrassed to have come upon them.

Marian felt her feet hit the floor abruptly, without truly slowing down, and she swayed unsteadily, dizzy and lightheaded. Wesley kept one arm around her, steadying, hugging her to his side as he turned to face Donnic. To anchor herself, she slipped her arms around his waist, resting her swirling head on his cool armor. Mirth still played on his features, his eyes shining as he addressed the other man.

"Guard-Captain, good to see you."

"Sorry to interrupt." Donnic said, looking contrite. "I just came by to see how you were settling in, but I can see that all is well. Serah Hawke." He said, nodding at Marian. He continued hastily, rushing his words awkwardly, already backing out of the door. "If you need anything, you know where I am."

"Thank you, Donnic. I'll drop in on you sometime later." Wesley answered.

Marian nodded back at Donnic before adding, "Take care, Guard-Captain."

The man was off, leaving them alone, Wesley's arm still holding her protectively to him, though her vertigo had passed. Between them the levity fizzled after the interruption and she quickly extracted herself from his grip, moving from under his arm to sit down in one of the wooden guest seats near his desk.

The room wasn't nearly as big or lavishly decorated as most of the other chambers here, nothing at all like the seneschal's or even Donnic's, but she liked the cozy room just the same. He had a small window and a painting on the wall, two high bookshelves and guest chairs in front of the desk that bore both the sigil of Kirkwall and the templar order.

"I won't assume that we won't be overheard here, but I'm sure it's better than talking in the Gallows." Marian said, ending the strained silence that had endured since Donnic departed.

"No, probably not the most secure place, but I don't think we need worry too much." Wesley answered, moving to close the door. Her heart raced at the thought of being alone, truly alone with him and she realized that it hadn't ever happened before. Even at the Rose, Jethann had been there like a chaperone, listening to their every word. Licking her dry lips with the tip of her tongue, she wasn't even sure what to talk about once the door was closed.

"How's Leandra?" Wesley asked, killing her anticipation with the mention of her mother.

"Mother's doing better." Marian replied, her face scrunched up in concentration as she tried to recall how she'd seemed that morning. Nothing particular came to mind and she decided that she was generally well, much better than her life before they'd left Gamlen's house.

"Things have been easier for her since we moved to Hightown, though it did take a fair bit of work to get the house back in shape again. Those slavers were so busy with their trade," her face turned stormy at the mention of the former occupants, "that they didn't really scour the house, and we found several family relics, which made her happy."

Wesley nodded, listening to her as she spoke, his eyes locked on her. She felt too scrutinized under his gaze, and he seemed too far away, sitting across the desk from her.

"Since your Order is all interested in things concerning the Qunari, you should know we're going after Javaris Tintop. I could use your assistance if you're free." Marian said as she broke the eye contact with him. She shook her head slightly to clear it.

"Varric got a lead from the Coterie that he's down past Smuggler's Cut." The words were rushed, coming out in a jumble to keep herself from thinking too much about Wesley. It was difficult to keep her head clear alone in the room with him, the feeling of his body against hers still making her breath come in short, quick spurts. Even her voice sounded nervous, more high-pitched and unsure as she continued talking to him. With every blink she could see his handsome smiling face so close to hers that it was hard to resist kissing his lips.

"Sounds good." Wesley said, shouldering his sword and shield before putting his discarded gauntlets back on. "Nice as it is to be here, I don't mind putting my sword arm to use, even if we have to go through the undercity." His nose wrinkled in distaste at the mention of the place, and she didn't relish the visit either, the thought of the stench alone was enough to put her off.

"And it will be useful to get the potentially dangerous poison gas back to the Arishok before it kills half of Kirkwall." Marian threw her head back in a casual way, flicking her hair away from her eyes, letting a sardonic grin cross her face as she did.

Dimly, she was aware that she was flirting with Wesley, not just the gentle teasing that she'd always administered, but with an intent that made her feel almost reckless. She doubted that he minded, recalling the feeling of his arms around her with a small shiver.

"Then we should get to that. Is it just you and I?"

"Varric's got the information, and we might be able to drag Isabela along too. If not her, then we'll find someone else. Maybe Merrill or Anders." Marian informed him, almost wishing that no one else would come to ensure their privacy.

That kind of thinking was dangerous, in fact, too dangerous, she realized as they left the Keep. The two of them, though formidable, just weren't enough in a fight, but she so liked spending time with just Wesley, the short meeting not enough for her. She walked slightly ahead of him as they crossed the Hightown market, nodding at Hubert as she did, her head spinning at the new reality of Wesley readily available to her.


	8. Companion (Wesley)

The bright, intense sun burned the sensitive skin on the back of Wesley's neck, making it pink and raw to the touch, as he followed Marian's swaying hips back into the city. He'd taken off his helmet just to be able to breathe, the acrid putrescence of sulfur had been stinging his nostrils, trapped inside his helm. It was warm but without a breeze and they'd been fighting waves of spiders, undead and horrors at the Bone Pit. Later, back at the Viscount's Keep, he'd ask her to see to the sunburn, just the thought of the cooling relief of the healing magic making him walk a little faster in anticipation.

"So templar, tell me, have your men turned enough of Kirkwall's mages tranquil or are they out to set some kind of record?" Anders began, giving Wesley a dark glare from off to his left side.

They'd been walking in mostly silence, the earlier fights sapped their desire for frivolous conversation, or at least it had for Wesley. He'd been content to follow Marian back into the city, her sweaty robes clinging to the curves of her body, making the walk both wonderful and torturous. Ahead of him, he heard Marian give an audible sigh, but she didn't intervene to end the pointed topic of conversation. Perhaps she was just hoping Anders would stop his questioning, but Wesley knew the man wouldn't.

There was something more than his templarhood that bothered Anders - although to any mage being a templar would be more than enough. No, Wesley knew that it was Marian. Whatever feelings he had for Marian, he suspected Anders felt similarly, and it was almost a competition - a pissing match between them whenever they were both in her company. Anders wanted to liberate her and Wesley wanted to protect her. They weren't mutually exclusive goals, but their tacit agreement had been to agree to disagree.

"I don't know what you think enough is, and the templars aren't under my command." Wesley replied grimly, hating that he had to say anything at all in response to such a comment.

These issues, the ones Anders talked about constantly, they were the ones he had to deal with, not just in work, but privately all the time. They consumed his thoughts, ate at him when he was alone in the bed, his mind free to wander. He cared for Hawke, and had gone out of his way to make sure the templars didn't get wind of her magic, dismissing any questions that came to him with comments on her mabari, her brother's sword arm, or even her own prowess with a bow, though she had none that he knew of. It took a toll on him, having to lie all the time, unsettling his thoughts and making him long for the simpler times in Ferelden. But he knew there really were no simpler times, just memories of a time when he didn't have as much knowledge. Though ignorance could be more comfortable, he wasn't one to hide from the truth, even when it made him question himself.

"No one should me made tranquil. It is an absolute abuse of power to take the humanity from someone, strip their soul out of fear. You have power, influence. Why not use it to talk some sense into the rest of your order?"

"That talk is dangerous and inciting. Meredith would have me imprisoned or worse and then you would have one fewer advocate and ally amongst the templars. What you want is to cause dissension amongst already divided ranks. We should stand together."

"So you'd have them ruin every mage, even Hawke?"

"What I said is that we should stand together. Unless you have a solution to live peacefully and keep mages from seeking additional power through any means, then this argument is pointless." Wesley closed his eyes.

He wasn't articulating his position well, because it was much more than that. Anders made him feel illogical and childish, as if he could never win a debate with reason, because there was so much he didn't understand about being a mage.

"We don't need templars policing us. Mages need to live free!" Anders snapped, his voice taking on a fevered pitch.

"Tell me how well that goes when an abomination is running down children."

"Helmet and Staffy should learn to get along." Marian shot over her shoulder, ending their argument with the pithy remark. Nothing more was said until they were much closer to Kirkwall, the silence tense between all of them.

"Are you coming to Wicked Grace tonight?" Varric asked Wesley, in a quiet voice that nonetheless drew Anders attention with a scowl. He rather liked Varric, but it was almost impossible _not to_ , the good-natured dwarf was as close as family to Marian since their trip to the Deep Roads.

"I would like that, I'll see if I can make it." Wesley answered, smiling at man.

His smile came easier now that he was away from the Gallows full-time, and it helped when Marian was around to make sure it stayed put on his face. He chanced another glance at her, watching her stretch, an arm reaching upward at an angle. Looking around, Wesley wasn't the only one watching, a good number of the people in streets around them had their eyes trained on Marian, who seemed oblivious to her onlookers.

"You know where to find us if you're free." Varric said, his voice faint as he admired Marian's long limbs reaching outwards, arching her back towards the sky.

Before he'd joined her, Wesley had no idea that Marian had her fingers in so many things, the revelation almost unsettling to him. Constantly in motion, the Viscount and the Arishok both getting her attention and time, and her cadre of friends all came with their own problems, him included. But she always seemed to be around to play cards, or take her dog for a walk, and everyone in Kirkwall knew of her, even if they didn't actually know her. Sometimes he wondered if she knew how truly well-known she was, half of the people in the Viscount's Keep and the Gallows taking note of her comings and goings.

All the attention, the expectations, everything would bother Wesley. He wasn't a general, or even a shining star amongst the templars, but a rank and file man, not someone who stood out and was noticed. His new appointment was more than a stretch of his abilities, it was a true test, and he spent long hours there studying the laws of Kirkwall and speaking to his friend Donnic, trying to figure out where the city ended and the Order began. It was a laborious task, and he worked at it, advising both Meredith and the Viscount in matters that really didn't have any easy solutions.

He continued to visit Leandra, though he could no longer afford to stay for the lengthy visits that had endeared him to her. Stopping in on his way to or from the Keep, he always took time to speak with her and their new manservant, Bodahn, he and his boy Sandal ever-present in the front room of the Amell estate.

The stone turned greyer and more level as they approached Hightown, the afternoon still hanging bright overhead. What Wesley wanted and needed was to bathe, but his desk called, and his feet would be glad for the respite after walking so far.

Their companions departed, but Marian followed him back to the Keep, wordlessly leading him back to his office. Closing the door after they'd walked in, she tenderly pressed her fingertips on Wesley's neck, healing the spot with the worst burn. The tingling, cooling sensation spread through him, taking the ache out of his feet and joints as well. Her faint touch was gentle, but it almost made him moan, more of pleasure than pain.

"Anders has a point." She started once they were finished with his healing. Sitting down in the guest chair that she normally occupied, her mouth grim and unsmiling as she looked at him across the desk. They had this particular discussion far too often for his liking, but he knew they couldn't avoid it.

"And so does the Order. We uphold the will of the Maker."

"No, you uphold the will of the Chantry and the Knight-Commander." Marian corrected. "Doesn't it bother you?"

"Did I look happy in the Gallows to you?"

"No." Marian frowned, thinking back. "I'm sorry Wesley, that was unfair. I know it bothers you. I just, I see the side of the mages, being one and all."

"Well, I didn't, not before meeting you. It's been a harsh lesson in reality, but it's like I said about Orsino, he agitates and then offers no solutions. Change isn't a solution, it's a means to an end. You don't have to be a historical scholar to know that a revolution can overthrow a current system and then wind up installing someone more damaging to the bottom line and not less."

He had to stop there, she was sitting across from him, shoulders slumped, looking so defeated in the chair and any lingering anger he had for Anders evaporated. Her eyes were closed, as if in thought, but when she opened them they were shining blue again, clear and defiant.

"You should talk to Merrill." She suggested.

"Why?"

"She's...interesting. And Dalish. They're perspective on magic and their Gods is an interesting contrast to what the Chantry teaches."

Wesley was about to launch into a protest when a short, perfunctory knock rang out on his door. Annoyingly, they were almost always interrupted whenever she visited his office, business pushing her out of the way. Shouting at whomever was behind it to enter, he scrambled to his feet behind the desk when he saw Knight-Captain Cullen opening the door.

"Knight-Captain." Wesley said, feeling almost as if he'd gotten caught doing something illicit, even though he and Marian were allowed to just sit together.

"I should depart and look in on my mother." Marian said, almost too formal under scrutiny. "It has been good to see you Ser Wesley." She rose from her chair and giving a short nod to acknowledge the Knight-Captain as she exited. Cullen returned the nod, closing the door behind her after she'd left the room.

It was with some regret that Wesley watched her go. Their conversation was unfinished, and he always hated to part from Marian. The more time he spent with her, the harder it was for him. If she wanted him to get to know Merrill better, to understand her views on magic, he would at least make the effort, though he was unsure if he'd like the answers. Whatever his quarrels with the Order, or his general dislike of Kirkwall, it hadn't caused him to lose faith in the Maker and His Bride, but he did think on the way scripture was interpreted more these days. Wesley turned to Cullen, the shock of his unexpected visit written on his face.

"I have more instructions from the Knight-Commander after spending a good portion of the day trapped in her office. When it came time to deliver these to you, I almost begged just to get out of the Gallows." Cullen said, earning a laugh from Wesley.

That laughter turned into a groan when Cullen unfurled the scroll he'd been holding, showing Wesley the tight, compact script on a page filled with new suggestions for him to take to the Viscount. The seneschal was not likely to be pleased by this development, and he would take it out on him, Wesley realized with mounting disdain for the paper now spread on his desk. He heaved a sigh and sat back down, making himself remember that this was a vast improvement over the Gallows, and it was just how these positions went, no matter how infuriating he found it personally.


	9. Longing and Perspective (Marian)

"He's going to feel you staring at him, Hawke." Isabela murmured to Marian while they get settled for a night on the Wounded Coast.

After clearing out Evets Marauders band of merry criminals, save for the man himself, and several other, less intrepid bandit gangs well into the evening, no one was quite up to the walk back to Kirkwall, her included. She was spent, her mana nearly drained by all the healing she'd done, Merrill taking a bad hit that she was currently sleeping off near the fire.

Wesley was poking into their fire, tending to their dinner. Marian checked on Merrill, but once assuring herself that she was resting peacefully and there was no sign of danger, she'd gone to the edge of their camp, looking out at the water while surreptitiously stealing glances at Wesley across the way.

He didn't see her, she knew that. He was intent in his task, and rightfully wary about staying on the Wounded Coast. They'd done it before, but he hadn't been with them, the last time long before she went into the Deep Roads.

"I'm not staring." Marian muttered back. "I'm appreciating." She said truthfully. Any attempt to bullshit Isabela about her feelings wouldn't have gone down well, the pirate was more intuitive than anyone she'd ever met. Isabela laughed heartily, settling herself down next to Marian on the ground.

"As much as I like the sea, I hate sand. Ugh." Isabela complained as soon as she hit the ground. Glancing back at Wesley she leaned in closer to Hawke. "Do you have any delicious plans I should know about?"

"Not immediately. Maybe when I'm feeling a bit more coureagous."

"You shouldn't have to build yourself up for him, he should do it for you! Look Hawke, we can all see the way he protects you, how he cares."

Marian said nothing, not knowing how to respond. She didn't think Isabela was lying, but rather making the truth convenient, to fit her desire for them to be together. In her mind, there were so many things standing in their way, the past, her magic, and what she wanted for a future, Marian unsure if a relationship could reconcile or even withstand all of them.

There was the spectre of Aveline, hovering over them, and making her feel like an intruder. It wasn't up to Marian to decide how to deal with Wesley's wife, but she didn't want to push him if he was still grieving. There was her magic, always there, driving a wedge between them and the thing she wanted most of all, a commitment, something to build a future upon. That required patience and plenty of trust, which was hard for her, and to be sure, she could wait.

"You just might want to actually do something with him, other than just stare. He's nice to look at and all, but just looking doesn't fulfill all your needs." Isabela purred, her remark too accurate.

"I'll be fine." Marian said, wrapping her arms protectively around herself as a breeze swept across from the sea.

"Suit yourself." Isabela said, standing up. Realizing there was no point in trying to get Hawke to talk more about it, she contented herself with the fact that at least she'd succeeded in getting her to _think_ more about it. Sauntering back to the fire, Isabela gave a cat-like smile to the templar, who gave a confused half-smile back at her.

After dinner, Wesley stayed awake for a first watch. They were guarding in short, rotating shifts, so they could move just after first light. Marian had the last one, Isabela taking the few hours between. Part of her wanted to stay awake, to fight the sleep that her body and spirit so desperately wanted, just to watch Wesley.

Earlier, before Merrill had gotten knocked unconscious, she'd heard her and Wesley quietly talking, and from what she could gather, he'd visited her in the alienage. Merrill was explaining about Fen'Harel to an avid Wesley, who asked thoughtful, respectful questions of Merrill whenever she stopped.

They'd never finished their discussion from the time in his office when they'd been talking of mages and the Chantry, the first time she'd suggested he speak with Merrill. It was surprising to her that he did seek her out without Marian's reminder, and it spoke volumes of Wesley. He wanted to learn, to understand mages better and not just mindlessly serve. He was an excellent friend.

But Marian didn't want him to just be her friend anymore. Throughout the time they'd spent together, she'd been able to downplay her attraction to Wesley. Yes, he was attractive, and yes, he was thoughtful and kind, among a myriad of other desirable qualities. But those things weren't exclusive to him. Anders had the same qualities, as did Varric, though neither of them made her pulse race from just giving her the slightest glance or a silly, lopsided grin.

Wesley walked quietly around the camp, stretching his legs after sitting for so long. She heard him clanging softly on the sand, walking near her bedroll. Immediately she shut her eyes tight, pretending to be asleep so that he didn't think she'd been eying him since after dinner. She had, but it seemed wrong for him to know it, to see her longing for him, and she feigned sleep, without realizing how quickly it would wash over her.

Sleep found Marian almost immediately, her heavy eyes closing easily after a day of fighting. Her spirit wanted to go to the Fade, yearned to rebuild the mana that was used during the waking hours. There were a few occasions when Marian was aware in the Fade, and this wasn't one of them. Her sleep was so complete it almost felt drugged. She was dimly aware of the attentions of the denizens of the Fade on her, but Marian was consumed by her need for rest and vivid dreams of Wesley, her dreaming thoughts mixing with her conscious desires.

"Hawke. Come on, lovely, get up." Isabela was shaking her, trying to wake her up to take over the watch. "Balls, remind me to never take the middle shift again." Isabela said, stifling a yawn. Marian sat up groggily, still wondering where her father was as she readjusted to consciousness.

"How's Merrill?" Marian asked, her eyes immediately going over to where their friend slept.

"Looked better when she got up to pee about an hour ago, but she's still limping."

"I'll check on her again, try to heal a little more."

Isabela nodded then settled into her bedroll, cocooning herself within it immediately as she turned her back to Hawke, who was still stretching.

Halfway through her watch, Wesley got up and sat next to her, watching the rising sun.

"Without the bandits, thieves and Tal'Vashoth, it's almost pretty out here." She said as he settled down next to her, shivering slightly in his linens.

He simply nodded in agreement as he looked out across the horizon, watching the blazing sun reflected in the calm waters below them. She turned away from him, the sight of an unencumbered Wesley without armor made her want to stare and memorized every line of his well-muscled form.

Without speaking, he spread out his food and shared his breakfast with her, dried fruit and a bit of bread he'd saved. She gave his hand a grateful pat, but didn't dare linger too long, the kindness and the sunrise making the situation feel too intimate.

* * *

She didn't realize she was bringing him everywhere with her until Varric gently pointed it out. He cornered her in his room at the Hanged Man as they were idly practicing Diamondback with Merrill, waiting for others to join them for their scheduled weekly game of Wicked Grace.

"There's nothing going on with Wesley." Marian said huffily, vehemently denying the accusation with a shake of her head. Dark hair tangled in her eyes and she gave it an impatient swipe with her hand, grateful for the excuse to cover her face while she regained her composure. In her chest, her heart gave a flutter, and she tried to will it away.

"Well then he has a crush on you, or something." Varric tried, looking at her as if she'd lost all reason. Around the table, Fenris pointedly ignored their discussion while Merrill looked absolutely enthralled. Rapt green eyes were darting between her and Varric, as each fruitlessly tried to convince the other.

"No, he doesn't."

"Then why is he the only one who doesn't call you _Hawke_?"

As if on some maddeningly accurate cue, Wesley came through the door of Varric's suite, smiling at her as he greeted them.

"How are you, Marian?" He asked, concerned by the high blush on her cheeks and the strange looks passing between her and Varric. Awkward tension still fizzled in the air, neither the mage nor the dwarf able to look directly at Wesley for a few moments.

"I'm fine. Everything's fine. Are we playing cards?" She asked Varric irritably. He said nothing, but raised his eyebrows and motioned Wesley to a seat, dealing him into their game.

When it was Marian's turn to get more drinks, Merrill got up and came with her. She could feel the questions burning in Merrill's stare all night, and knew that once alone she wouldn't be able to avoid them.

"Are you really in love with Wesley? Varric's been saying he's going to turn it into a story." Her Dalish friend informed her. Varric must have been talking about it before she'd even gotten to the bar, and she wondered who might have heard him. Everyone, she surmised, knowing how he loved to tell stories, and a mage and a templar falling into forbidden love was bound to be a popular one.

"What? Another one of Varric's thinly veiled representations of me makes it into book form? I'm sure Mother will be so pleased that I am immortalized in his pages yet again." Hawke said exasperated at the development. "Merrill, Wesley and I aren't like that. The last time we talked about our love lives, he told me he still considered himself a married man." Marian made no indication that conversation had taken place years ago, when they'd first come to Kirkwall and she was still working for Athenril.

"Oh. Well that's rather sad, he's such a nice man." Merrill said dejectedly, grabbing two mugs of ale off the counter as Corff passed them to her.

She almost convinced herself with that speech, letting the words render her indifferent to Wesley for the rest of the night. Questioning glances were shot at her, and she could feel his confusion, but she tried to ignore it, instead flirting with a bewildered Fenris, and flummoxing Merrill with her overt prods.

Later that night he walked her home, despite it being in the opposite direction of the Gallows. Her mother was still awake, and greeted the templar warmly, but threw a knowing look to her daughter as she left them alone to say goodbye.

"Did I do something?" Wesley asked, once they had privacy.

"No." Marian shook her head, guilt crashing over her. "It was just something that was said before you arrived."

"Which was?"

She shook her head again, unwilling to explain it to him. At his questioning, the whole thing felt petty and foolish, and she had acted childishly all night. Wesley looked at her, but when she wouldn't meet his gaze he took her in his arms and turned her towards him, tipping her face up towards his. Though he didn't speak, the question still lingered in his eyes, and she admired the muted brown and green colors that were mixed in them. Her fingers longed to trail against the stubble on his jaw, the dark shadow dulling the sharp edges of his face and making him look younger.

"What was it?" He asked again, speaking much more softly.

"It's been pointed out," Marian started in a stiff voice, "that you are often accompanying me wherever we go." Her eyes were downcast, even as he held her chin. "That you alone call me Marian when everyone else calls me Hawke."

Wesley looked his confusion. "But Marian is _your_ name. Hawke is a family name, and before it could have meant you or Carver, which is why I never really called you Hawke. Unless you prefer it." He offered, but Marian shook her head.

"As for accompanying you, a great many of the things you do are of interest to the Order. But besides that, you are my oldest friend in Kirkwall, and I wouldn't like anything to happen to you. So I shall continue to go, and go happily to fight at your side whenever you call." He finished, his words making Marian feel strangely lighter and heavier at the same time.

It was heartening to hear of his devotion to her, the rational explanations for everything, but the word friend descending upon her mind and like a relentless foe, wouldn't let up. She was still his friend, even though he dominated her nightly thoughts, and she went far out of her way to make sure she spent time with him. A friend, a man that made her weak with need whenever she spent too much time alone with him, even discussing the most mundane things.

"You are a great friend, Wesley. I am sorry for my behavior tonight. I don't like to seem biased, but I would rather have no blade at my side than yours." Marian smiled, moving away from him. "Can you see yourself out?" She asked, her bright voice masking the sadness that she could feel marring her features. Deftly hiding her crestfallen expression from him, she continued up the stairs, removing herself from his presence.

"Of course." Wesley answered, returning to his slightly bewildered tone. Behind her, she heard the gentle clang of his footfalls a few times before he exited the estate.

She pushed her face down in her pillows and screamed her frustration into the softness, her chest aching as a dull pain radiated from the center. Exhausted and heartbroken, she pulled herself back up off the too tempting bed to draw a bath. Letting the warm water spread over her body, she willed it to clear her mind or even grant her enough peace to think of anything but Wesley, but to no avail.


	10. Possessive (Wesley)

The foreboding presence of the Qunari weighed heavily on the minds of many, the Knight-Commander sending new threats with him every day as he headed to the Viscount's Keep. Most of them were for the Viscount, but a few particularly poetically worded messages were for Seneschal Bran and even one for the Grand Cleric. Wesley had to give it to Meredith, she was an equal opportunity offender, even giving him a good reason to hang his head in disgrace during their last meeting.

Meredith felt that as the commander of the largest armed force in Kirkwall, she had to have the largest say, without regard to what the matter. As her official liaison, it was his unhappy duty to relay her thoughts and more often, her demands, to the Viscount. His Excellency, for the most part wasn't perturbed, used to Meredith's displays of bravado from years of dealing with her, but Bran did nothing to hide his dislike of all things templar related, including Wesley. The man did his best to needle him at all times, including making note of Marian's frequent visits. Together the two of them exited the Viscount's office, and Bran let no opportunity escape him.

"Where is your Lady Hawke today, templar? Perhaps she's with her Chantry brother, on her knees...in prayer, of course." Bran mused, his even tone not enough to belay his salacious meaning.

"I am quite aware that you don't like Marian, Seneschal, but that's no reason to black your own eye." Wesley retorted, anger already simmering within him as he raised a gauntlet covered fist in warning. "Why concern yourself about her whereabouts?"

"Oh, on the contrary, I think the young woman is perfectly acceptable for _you_." Bran retorted smugly as he moved deftly out of reach, the emphasis on the last word speaking volumes on his opinion of them both. "I merely asked after her to see if you were going to do any work for the Viscounty, or disappear for untold hours as you trail after her."

"It's well within the scope of my duties to investigate matters important to the Order. She's done a lot with the Qunari, and the Knight-Commander is especially concerned about that situation, even if this office isn't." Wesley replied hotly. He didn't rise to Bran's barbed words usually, but he was sick of his insinuations about Marian.

"So spending your time diddling an apostate is important to the Order, that's good to know."

"You vile man, do not dare to impugn her chastity!" Wesley hissed.

"I assure I am not." Bran said, letting an awful grin slide over his face, just to tease the upright templar.

"Oh, don't worry about me." Marian's amused, disembodied voice said, and she rounded the corner, coming into view.

"Marian." The templar blushed, but she strode past him, pushing Wesley aside to stand in front of Bran.

"I don't have any chastity to impugn, he's right about that." She threw her hair out of her face, he saw the other man watching her every movement intently. "But I suspect he's only giving you a hard time because he _so_ wishes I'd give him one."

"What a clever tongue, your mother must be so proud." Bran drawled, eager to have someone to play the game with that wasn't going to threaten him with blows to the face.

For whatever reason, he didn't really dislike Marian, but found her rather tedious, interrupting work and bludgeoning her way into the Viscount's office. Though effective in getting her way, it wasn't an approach he could appreciate. What she lacked in finesse she more than made up for in other departments, and Bran raked his eyes over her, admiring the smooth skin of her shoulders left exposed by her choice of robes.

"My tongue, are you really going to be so transparent?" She asked, looking up at the seneschal through heavy, black lashes. Bran smirked at her, waiting for her to continue before answering.

"I know you only mention it because you dream of my clever little tongue teasing a release from your cock." The last word hung in the air, broken into two syllables, her tongue clicking on the last hard sound. Under his armor Wesley could feel his body flush with heat. Never had he heard her descend into vulgarities, but he could tell she was more at ease verbally assaulting the seneschal than she was playing the noble. He had the distinct feeling that he'd missed something, where Bran had offended him, he'd merely amused Marian.

A frisson of energy passed through the air and Wesley moved in a reflexive way, exceedingly quick from years of training. Bran had reached an arm out to Marian, to do what, he didn't know. Wesley snatched her away, out of reach, her back pressed tightly against his chest. If he hadn't been so infuriated at the seneschal, the nearness of her would have been too much, his body aware the curve of her arse through his templar skirt, pressed to his groin.

The templar glared menacingly at the other man, his grip on Marian's waist not easing up even though she was at least a foot from where she'd been standing before. Something primal and possessive in Wesley made a growl well up in his throat, itching to be released, but he knew the sentiment would be lost on the seneschal, who would take the opportunity to call him an animal or worse.

"Excuse us, Seneschal. I'll be back for our appointment in a moment." Marian said in a most dignified way, despite still being caged within Wesley's iron grip. She extracted herself from his arms, and motioned towards his office, but he didn't move, preferring to glare at the other man. Sighing heavily, she made him move with a small jolt of lightning as she pressed her hands to his armor, pushing him away from where Bran still stood, watching her leave.

"Threats aren't at all like you, Wesley. Did the seneschal get to you?" Marian didn't sit, so neither did he, dangerous rage still bubbling through him, making his fists curl at his sides. She was concerned, frowning and looking at him as though he'd just lost all of his reason. Breathing deeply, he tried to calm himself enough to form a coherent answer.

"He somehow always manages to be offensive, even before he speaks. I just wanted to shut him up, but he knows how to get to me."

"Yes, well, I'm sure that he'll be even more offensive about me after today." Marian said, looking exasperatedly at Wesley. There was something else behind her gaze, dark and indistinguishable, but he could see it dancing in the background. It was almost as if she were pleased about something, but she couldn't be, or at least, he couldn't figure out anything in this situation to be pleased about. "He wasn't going to hurt me, you know."

"You don't know what he was going to do." Wesley said quickly, defending his actions. The seneschal didn't seem as if he wanted to actually harm Marian, but Wesley felt territorial, and needed to display to the seneschal how unwelcome he was.

"Actually, he was probably just wanted to see how I'd react." Marian admitted, looking away from Wesley as she said it. "It didn't feel malicious, more _exploratory_." She finished, blushing at the last word. Deep within him, the possessive feeling from earlier resurfaced, and he struggled to keep his voice level.

"Did you want...?" Wesley didn't finish the question, the very idea causing sickness to well in his stomach.

"NO! No, of course not! I only want. I mean that he's not. Oh Maker." She began, sputtering as her face flushed red. "Well anyway, the seneschal isn't really a danger, he's just difficult and a little pervy." Looking him in the eye, she flashed him a winning smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"But don't you worry, the difficult ones are my specialty." She pronounced. "If I can't convince him to not charge Fenris the tax on that estate with my charm, I'll just freeze him in a block of ice." Wesley laughed, all too glad to picture that bastard frozen by one of her spells. The laughter quieted his edgy nerves and he sat behind his desk, trying to shake off the strange feeling the encounter had left him with.

"Oh, I...guess I understand. Neither Aveline nor I were really adept at reading the intent underneath, we used to joke about it." Wesley offered, suddenly feeling foolish for letting the situation escalate so. "She always wondered what we were missing, jokes and whatnot, but she never cared for that kind of subtext anyway. It wasn't really worth knowing in her opinion."

"No, um, she didn't really seem the type. She was a soldier, so not much use for subtle innuendo there." Marian agreed, a strange look on her face as she did. "Bran is all about innuendo and latent meanings, enough so that even a simple conversation with him is a challenge."

A smirk winked into view on her face, but it was unlike the many he'd seen her give before and Wesley wondered what exactly it was about the challenge that excited her. The thought that Bran could excite her in any way caused trepidation and more than a little jealousy to rise within him. His spirits plummeted again as he compared himself to the rich and powerful seneschal. Wesley was just a templar, not even a particularly distinguished one, and he felt foolish, almost miserable as he considered Marian's options.

Suitors had been practically lining up at the Amell estate to visit Marian, ever since she'd reclaimed it. All one had to do was walk through the Hightown Market to hear people discussing her, and her love life in great detail. There was speculation on who'd be brave enough to try to court her next, and every merchant seemed to know whom she'd rejected or saw when they called upon her. It was daunting, he owned nothing, and his meager income was so tiny that what they found hunting bandits put it to shame.

Leandra certainly didn't even consider him for her daughter, mentioning on his last visit that she'd dined with another family in hopes of matching one of their sons with Marian. Had she thought Wesley in any way worthy of her daughter, she wouldn't have mentioned it, but instead she'd gossiped with him as if he were just another old friend. Perhaps it was all he seemed to Leandra, an unsuitable old friend, and he realized that he was certainly _older_ than Marian, by nearly a decade. Insecurity rose, fed by the comparison of his life to hers, and he found that he almost couldn't meet her eyes when she began talking again.

"I have to go settle what I came here for, but I do have some errands down on the docks tonight. Want to come?"

"I'll meet you at your house." He replied, eager to spend more time with her. The invitation made him happier again, and he was almost ashamed at how the slightest words from her could transform his mood. She nodded at him, her features unreadable as she turned away. Wesley couldn't help but wonder about her thoughts, wishing he could know what he was missing. He wanted to know what she was thinking, what she wanted so he could be the one to fulfill it for her.

"You're always welcome for dinner, Mother would be glad to see you."

"I'll try to make it."

She waved her way out of his office, and he watched her walk into the seneschal's office, slamming the door behind her. Through the door he heard a muffled angry retort from Bran, but nothing from Marian in answer. The thought that maybe she had frozen the man made him feel a little better, but he doubted it would ever occur, no matter how he thought Bran deserved it.

In his own office he sat thinking about her, his mind stuck on her brash admission, that she had no chastity to impugn. Just the very thought made Wesley issue a small groan of want, his body tightening as his mind filled with the desires he'd tried so hard to shelve. He'd long since realized it was futile, but it was clear to him now. There was no denying it after his actions today.

He'd fallen in love with Marian.


	11. Unsaid and Said (Marian and Wesley)

Allure's dark eyes danced with a malicious light in the middle, and Marian felt a clenching in her chest. The desire demon in the Harimann estate _knew_ her, and Marian knew what she'd say before the words were even out. There was only one offer that could be made to her, only one thing she desired and didn't have. Peace ran through her at the thought of her father's death, and determination with her memories of Bethany, relief for Carver. There was something held deeper, more secret and precious. One look from the demon was all it took and Marian was sure that the thing felt everything, could read the desires pulsing within her, even as she tried to bury them deeper inside.

Sebastian was standing next to her, huffing indignantly as she spoke with it. Wesley and Fenris stood right behind her and she could feel their combined disapproval rolling off in waves. She could almost smell it, the feeling of absolute disdain was that powerful.

"You long so much for him, and he's right there. Should I give you the power to take exactly what you want from him but are unable to ask for?"

"Oh shut it." Marian said hotly, nodding to Sebastian. She wasn't about to let that thing spill her secrets. He loosed a ready arrow at Allure, who deftly caught the blasted thing, while she set her sights on the Lady Harimann, launching a scorching blaze of fire in her general direction.

Falling back, she cast her spells at the duo, Allure going down much faster than the noblewoman. When they returned to the light of Hightown, all of her companions were looking at her askance, speculating on whom Allure had spoke of, but none dared to ask.

She absolutely couldn't tell Wesley it was him. The depths of his sorrow and mourning had been made clear to her, and he wasn't looking for another relationship, especially not one with an apostate. The more time they spent together, the more she was sure that the templar didn't have feelings for her, other than the frustratingly brotherly ones that he projected.

"Can you give us a minute?" She asked after escorting Sebastian back to the Chantry. He was terribly shaken by their ordeal in the estate.

"I feel as though I've bathed in filth." Sebastian said mournfully.

"Scrub behind the ears. Evil always seems to get stuck there." Marian advised, drawing out a small chuckle from her disillusioned friend.

"Hawke, I know those words weren't meant for me, but if I were lucky enough to gain your affections, I'd want to know." Sebastian told her, glancing meaningfully at where Wesley stood talking to Fenris in the distance. Even Sebastian had figured it out, or at least had some inkling of her feelings.

Face burning red, she shook her head at his suggestion and turned talk back to dealing with Starkhaven now that the immediate threat of the Harimann's treachery was removed, but his words stuck in her head.

"Do you have further need of me, Hawke? There was something I wanted to attend to today." Fenris asked once they'd left the Chantry.

"No, I should get home. I'll see you at the Hanged Man probably." Marian said as a goodbye. The elf turned to Wesley.

"You'll tell Donnic what I found out?"

"Of course. He'll be very interested and will get the guards to take care of it." Wesley informed him. Fenris strode away after that, people instinctively giving him a wide berth as he passed through the painted crowds of Hightown.

Sebastian's words echoing in her head, Marian took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, looking at Wesley. He was still looking away from her, in the direction Fenris went. She was going to tell him.

"What was Fenris talking about?" She asked instead, inwardly cursing her cowardice.

"He got word a of a slaver den in the undercity taking Fereldans. The templars can't do anything about unless they suspect mage activity, and he wasn't sure, so I said I'd pass it onto the guards." They began to walk down the Chantry steps, towards her house. Without even asking, she knew he'd walk her home before he went back to the Keep.

"Oh, that makes sense." She paused, letting the wisps of her courage rebuild before she spoke again.

People greeted her as they walked by, and she responded with thin smiles or a distracted nod, her mind not really focused on their surroundings, but rather on how intimidating the man next to her was. The thought was absurd, Wesley was simply _him_ , and they'd been alone together more times than she could count. But sweat beaded in her palms anyway, her stomach churning without reason and she thought her windpipe might have constricted, because it grew harder and harder to breathe.

"Wesley, I need to tell you something." Marian's words came out rushed, almost garbled. Her voice didn't sound like her own, it was higher and strained. Try though she might, she couldn't beat back the fear inside her that chorused and crowed about how he didn't love her back.

All at once, the idea of telling him seemed like too much and her courage fled.

"I don't know what I'd do without you." Marian offered instead, a small substitute for the words she couldn't yet say.

"That means everything to me, my lady." Wesley said in a mock official voice, bowing at her as he did.

"Shut your face." She said, slapping his arm and remembering his armor too late. "Ouch, damn it." Shaking out her stinging hand, Marian fixed him with an angry glare but couldn't hold it, a smile breaking out on her face, and he laughed, the sound making her insides squirm. If only she could really hear him laugh all the time, feel the warmth of his breath as he chuckled in her ear, a sound only for her.

"Truly, I appreciate your kind words." He said to her, smiling warmly at her. Jumbled emotions rose in her and she didn't know what to feel, glad in part, but still disappointed. "I'd better get back to the Keep, unless there was something else you needed assistance with."

"No." Marian smiled up at him, her hair falling in her eyes annoyingly. Shaking her head, she tried her best to get the hair out of her eyes, and she thought of how ridiculous she must look to him. No wonder he didn't have feelings for her, she must have looked a state, scraggly, too-long hair hanging down in thin trails. When she got inside, she was taking the razor to her hair again, chopping it off in chunks like she usually did. "Nothing right now. Thanks for all your help Wes."

With that, she walked away, opening the door to her house. She heard the metallic clomp of his armored feet against the stone plaza, walking towards the Keep, the sound soon swallowed up by the multitude of other noises around them. Shutting the door, she felt more than a little disappointed with herself. Marian sadly wondered if she couldn't bring herself to say the words and tell Wesley, why did she turn down Allure's offer?

* * *

After she'd gone into the Fade, Wesley started to question why he'd let himself get so far from the rules of the Order. She was helping apostates, and the boy Feynriel was a truly dangerous one. He felt like a traitor. He'd never doubted her before, but he recently he'd begun to question a lot more than just the motivations of the templars.

For years she'd been the only one he felt like he could trust, an outsider that was a listening ear when he needed to vent about Kirkwall or his situation. Marian had patiently listened, after he'd neglected his duty and let her walk free. He'd owed her something, something for everything she'd done in Ferelden, for all that they'd both lost. But in the time since, his gratitude had faded, replaced by lust. He had to admit that if he didn't want her, he wasn't sure he'd let her continue the way she had been.

"I'm not sure this is the right thing for us to do." Wesley admitted to her as they walked up Sundermount with Merrill, on a quest to get her special tool, the name of which even sounded old and powerful to Wesley.

"This is for Merrill." Marian simply said, shooting the words over her shoulder. He watched the elf give her a soppy, wide-eyed, appreciative look and wondered if the smaller woman had a crush on his Marian. _His Marian_ , he thought wryly. He couldn't actually call her that anyplace outside of his head, but she felt like she was his, and that was the reason he was so concerned about her recent choices.

At her request he'd talked with Merrill, even forming a friendship of sorts. He'd had to restrain himself when he realized that the elf was a blood mage. Marian would never forgive him if he turned her in, but Maker, this is what he was fighting against. Admittedly, he'd watched Merrill closely since he'd figured it out and there had been no signs of corruption. That was what was worrying him most, that there were no signs.

Wesley liked Merrill, for the most part. She was a beautiful woman, perhaps a little sad and misguided. The disillusioned anger that he felt from most elves throbbed from within her, amplified, and he wondered if that was the true duty of the Dalish, to carry the burdens of their past along with the tattered remains of their culture.

Promising to revisit this conversation with Marian, he set it aside, not wanting to upset Merrill or Isabela, who was giving him a deadly glare as they walked along. He smiled at her, but she wasn't fooled. Debating in his head whether to say she had pretty eyes, he decided to do something he'd never really done or been good at. Making sure she was still looking at him, he slowly licked his lips, giving her an impish smile afterwards. Flirting was the way Marian distracted people from time to time, and though he was a novice compared to her, it felt appropriate with Isabela.

Isabela, never one to lose her composure, gave him a cheeky but impressed look. Something about it was so like Marian that he couldn't help but look over at her, and he heard the husky sound of the pirate's laughter behind him.

"Hawke, Wesley's acting strange. You might want to check his head for bumps or signs of concussion." Isabela called out to herThinking again of how Marian would react, he imitated her, turning around to smirk at Isabela.

"Alright, something really is wrong, but I like this Wesley, can we keep him?" Isabela said, this time Marian turned around at her words and looked at both of them. Wesley gave her a smirk too, but with her it felt intense and almost too telling, as if it were giving her access to all his secret thoughts of her.

"I'm inclined to agree." Marian said, looking with amusement between Wesley and Isabela. "But at least now I won't feel too badly for corrupting our morally upright templar."

"Does this mean I can tell him how well he fills out a skirt? You do Wesley, you're absolutely ravishing." Isabela cooed at him.

" _You_ have no idea how well I fill out a skirt, but I won't stop you if you want to find out." He answered, looking directly at Marian. She gave him an appraising look, surprised and playful.

"Who was that for?" Merrill asked. "You were looking at Hawke but talking to Isabela."

"All of you. There's more than enough to go round, _again and again_." Wesley said, stretching an arm out to embrace Merrill. A powerful, strange sensation filled him, and he began to understand why Marian liked the edgy banter so. Merrill giggled as she cuddled next to him, looking up at his flirtatious face. "Let's all go back to Varric's suite at the Hanged Man and I'll show you the pride of the templar Order."

"Definitely bumped his head." Hawke said, laughing. Wesley joined in, letting the mirth wash over him.

"Better this way." Isabela chimed in, giving into her own overwhelming laughter.

"Maybe he got bit by a spider and it gave him superpowers!" Merrill suggested excitedly, giggles spilling out of her.

"Merrill, that's just silly." Marian teased. "It's clear that Wesley is possessed by a demon and we need to take him to the Hanged Man to drive it out. We'll start with lots of unholy water, in the form of whiskey, then take his clothes off to make sure it's gone."

"Thought a lot about that one, eh Hawke?" Isabela asked, and both Marian and Wesley turned red.

"Let's just keep moving." Marian replied after a beat, and Merrill smiled up at Wesley, still tucked under his arm.

He smiled back at her as she moved away from him, but Marian's words had an unintended effect. They were always battling something, demons, monsters, giant spiders, and the odds were sure to turn on them eventually. He didn't want anything to happen to any of them, especially Marian. She couldn't win every single fight. When she started to lose, looming death quickly becoming a fact, wouldn't that be the perfect time to summon a demon, for her to turn to the lifeblood already spilling out of her and take the power she needed to win the fight?.

The noxious thought coiled within his mind, and he couldn't rid himself of it. All he could see was a true demon springing from her form, devouring everything he loved about her. He'd be forced to slay her, and he'd proven that he couldn't do it before. Once they were well away from demons and dreamers, he confronted Marian, not at all pleased about their direction.

"I need to speak with you." He said through gritted teeth. She'd given Merrill that blasted relic, and was going to let her just rebuild that cursed mirror.

Marian led him into her library, closing the door behind her. He was sure that she felt the rebuke coming, because she was standing against the door with her arms crossed in front of her chest, looking down her nose at him.

"What's on your mind, Wesley?"

"We're doing things that you know shouldn't be meddled with." Wesley said angrily, not caring if Leandra heard them arguing.

"I am doing what's right."

"No, you're serving your own interests as a mage."

"What exactly does that mean?" She asked defensively, eyes narrowing at him.

"You do what serves you and your friends, not the good of all."

"So I'm being selfish when I help Merrill restore her history or assist Anders in his clinic. Good to know."

"I'm tired of taking care of you and your friends. I've kept the Order away from you because I was convinced you were acting in the interests of good, but now I am not so sure. Recently it seems like all you do is defy the law more and more."

"No one asked you to do that. Do what you feel is right and I'll continue to do the same. Doesn't Kirkwall have enough problems without templars and mages? As a mage, can't I use my powers to serve?"

Part of him wished she would yell or scream or grow irrational, but instead she grew colder, as if he'd unleashed cold, focused fury upon himself. He actually shivered in his armor, momentarily letting her intimidate him with the coolness of her replies, but then drew himself up. These thoughts had to be addressed.

"You do help the city." He conceded. "I just meant that I do it because I care about all of you, even Anders, but it feels like none of you see that sacrifice."

"Your efforts are appreciated. If you have a problem with Anders asking you rational questions about the Order, take it up with him. Is that all?"

"No. Why did you give Merrill that tool? You know no good can come of it." As an answer, she shrugged.

"Neither you nor I can know that. It's her journey."

"I can't argue with you." He said, shaking his head in frustration.

"No, you can't, because this isn't even about helping us or anything logical. It's about your disapproval and guilt. You disapprove of me, of the way I live my life. Tough shit, Wesley, because it isn't changing. I can't see how you consider yourself my friend and disapprove of what I am." She spoke in a clipped, forced tone, as if she couldn't bear to even speak with him. The sound made his fury grow, stoking a fire he didn't understand.

"Mages are dangerous! _You_ are extremely dangerous! How many people have you killed? You run around and grow more powerful with every passing day, with no one to reign you in!" He spat heatedly at her, an irrational anger compelling him to condemn her.

Wesley regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth, Marian's face shattered as he spoke. A heavy silence descended between them, and he looked into the fire, at her books, anywhere but at her.

"You need to go." She finally said, her face still sad, but a confused hurt dominated her features.

"I shouldn't have said that."

"Well, you did, and you can't put feathers back in a pillow. Get out." She ordered, and then she turned and jerked the door open. Her running footsteps, light and quick went up the stairs, and he heard another door slam in her wake. With leaden limbs, he made his feet walk out of her house.


	12. Ache (Marian)

She hated leaving him behind, but the chasm forged by his careless words could only be bridged by his actions, and so far Wesley hadn't made any attempt to seem sorry. Though, in a way it was fortuitous, because Marian wouldn't even have bothered to take him with her to the mage underground, knowing that he would protest and only come along because of her.

After the disturbing outcome, she was glad that she hadn't - even though he didn't antagonize Anders, she wasn't sure if he could turn a blind eye to her friend if he'd seen the apostate threaten the life of the young girl. The extent of Justice's power, and the fact that Anders seemed to lose himself whenever the spirit reared up made her extremely worried for her friend, and she was sure having a templar around would have made it even worse.

"Hawke, I don't know what I'd do without you." Anders confessed in his clinic. His face was haggard and worn, all the misery caused by his actions out in the open for anyone to read. Within her, Hawke felt sympathy and pity change her expression to a frown, and she projected how abysmally torn Anders/Justice made her feel.

"Your honesty, friendship, everything, it's the only reason why I can stay sane." The words stung her, they were almost exactly what she'd said to Wesley as he walked her home, the night Varric accused her of having 'something going on' with him.

It seemed like such a long time ago, the memory made distant by the venomous fight they'd had. Their friendship and whatever other feelings she'd had for him were so warped, so strained now, the damage of their fight extending far further than she'd first realized. Without Wesley, she somehow felt more alone, almost exposed within Kirkwall, and she found herself going out less, save for her trips to the Hanged Man.

"Anders, that's what friends do, they stick together." Marian said, smiling wearily at him.

"Then why is it that Wesley is gone? How can he leave your side if he cares so much?" He demanded. Marian's face hardened at the question.

"It's really not your concern. We had a disagreement, and until we cool off, we're doing things separately." She explained, her body slumping in defeat at just the mere mention of Wesley. Doing her best to shake off the sadness that threatened to cover her like a thick blanket of moss, she smiled up at Anders.

"Come on, let's go to the Hanged Man and try and cheat Isabela at cards."

"You know Justice doesn't let me cheat."

"Well, you sit there then and watch me cheat and get drunk. Live vicariously!" She joked, and chortled at her own terrible pun.

"Hawke, I'm glad we're already friends." Anders said with a sigh as he followed her out into the dank walkways of Darktown.

She drank too much, the blank numbness and pleasant hum of her system filled with alcohol too tempting of a sensation to pass up in her deflated state. Marian knew when she'd gone far past too much, could feel her face tingling with the lack of sensation, her limbs turning to rubber as she tried to move later in the night. The giggles coming out of her sounded wild and loose to her own ears, and she could feel the watchful eyes of her friends as she continued to drink well beyond her limit.

But she wanted to be drunk and carefree, she wanted her hand to slip into Isabela's cleavage, to dust Varric's thigh under the table, and play with Andraste's face on Sebastian's belt buckle. Rogue fingers traced Fenris's lyrium, an act that made him squawk in protest before pointedly moving to the other side of the table. During the night she'd licked the point of Merrill's ear, causing the elf to blush all through her body, making those delicious ears turn a shade of bright red.

"Andeeeeeersssssss. Aaaaaaaaaaanders. Did you know that your name is fun to say?" Marian asked, looking up at Anders from where her head rested in his lap. "But that isn't really your name is it? You're like the Qunari! Is Anders your rank?"

"You've had too much to drink, Hawke." He said stiffly, looking ever more uncomfortable as she moved her head in a strange formation in his lap. It was something between a nod and a shake, as if she had trouble doing one and then called on the other.

"Yes, it is truly a tragedy. I am very drunk and I don't give a shit about anything anymore."

"Yes, you do." His voice was quiet and stern, but not enough for her to take notice in her drunken state.

"Perhaps I should escort her home." Sebastian said from her other side.

Marian perked up at the sound of his voice and rolled upwards, Anders's hands assisting her as she struggled to sit up. She leaned over to Sebastian, who was seated across the table from her, tipping over a mug of ale as she did. The thick brown liquid spread across the table in a slow stream, coloring Hawke's sleeve as she unknowingly dragged an errant arm through the mess.

"Sebastian, bring your crotch to me. I need to talk to Andraste."

"Alright, I'll help you take her home." Anders announced in a loud voice, pulling her off the table with an arm wrapped firmly around Marian's waist.

"What are you doing? I need to talk to the Maker's Bride and She's on Sebastian's waist!" Marian huffed indignantly.

"Where did broody go? Isn't his place on the way to her house?" Varric asked.

"Left after she scorched a hole in his tights." Anders answered with a snicker. She got the feeling that he heartily approved of that bit of drunken mayhem.

It took both Sebastian and Anders to get her out of the bar, she wriggled out of Anders's grip and dodged the ends of Sebastian's fingers with a flurry of wild giggles. Finally, Anders caught her around the waist again and she could swore she felt him cast a stunning spell to get her to stay still. It didn't last long, but he eased her out of the bar, Sebastian carrying her things as she saluted to Corff, who with a wink, saluted back as Marian launched into a loud and particularly off-key rendition of the Ferelden National Anthem. Half the bar was standing as they forced her out into the night air, the door closing and blocking out what had become a chorus of loud, rowdy voices raised in song, following Marian's lead.

"What caused this, if I may ask?" Sebastian ventured once they were outside the bar. "Hawke doesn't usually drink like this. She's obliterated." He observed with concern. They'd been walking slowly, Anders offering Marian bribes in return for forward motion.

"I can't tell you, I only want to talk to Andraste." Marian said stubbornly, shaking her head obstinately. Wisps of black hair flew all around her face, making her dizzy as the ends slapped her eyes and cheeks with gentle stings.

"I'm a brother in the Chantry, Hawke. I can carry your words to her."

"Sebastian, tell Andraste that I'm in love with Wesley and that he doesn't approve of me."

There was a harsh intake of breath from Sebastian and Anders stopped their shuffling, forced movement, causing Marian to lurch forward without the assistance of his guiding embrace. Hitting the ground with palms splayed, she felt nothing but the dull thunk of impact, too drunk for the pain of the action to catch up with her. Gravel was embedded into the palms of her hands, bleeding freely from where she'd tried to stop her own ungainly fall. Marian sat where she'd fallen on the ground and watched as the blood poured from around the pebbles, the sight making her feel frail despite her lack of sensation.

"Oh, Hawke. Damn, she's hurt. Help me get her up, Sebastian." She held up her hands to him, feeling helpless as she did, unable to push herself to standing, not trusting her legs to do the job alone. Anders swore at the sight of her hands. "I can't stop the bleeding until I can pick the gravel from out of her wounds, otherwise they'll heal around them.".

Thankfully, Leandra wasn't around when they were ushered in by Bodahn and they managed to get Marian upstairs without too much fuss or noise. Since her fall she'd become more docile, morose and quiet as they made the rest of the trip home.

"I should be getting back to the Chantry." Sebastian announced once they'd gotten Marian up to her bedroom. Anders nodded at him, murmuring a thanks as the archer backed out of the room.

Perched on the edge of her bed, Anders instructed Marian to hold her hands out to him. She watched him, fascinated as he plucked each piece out with magic, carefully lifting each tiny stone out and discarding it. Face crunched with concentration, Anders meticulously worked out each pebble, then healed her hands with a familiar pulse of a basic healing spell.

The relief washed over her, and she realized she'd been aware of the throbbing pain in her hands as he worked, meaning that some of the drink was starting to work its way out of her system. Her heavy head wanted nothing more than sleep, but she'd been down that road before, and knew it only led to worse pain in the morning. Leading Anders to the kitchen, she looked over the leftover food from dinner, and got herself some a goblet of water. It took much longer than usual, Marian still unsteady on her feet and unsure of herself as she tried desperately not to wake her mother.

"I'm sorry, Anders." Marian apologized as he tucked into what looked like leftover stew.

"What you said about Wesley, was it true?" He asked, and she sighed.

"He's a templar, trained to catch people like us. For years he's been trying to protect me, all of us really. and it's gnawing at his conscience. We fought about it, but mostly I think he was scared I was going to lose myself in some way." She sighed, her mind too befuddled to get further into the painful memory.

"But you said you loved him." It was both a question and a statement, and he wanted to hear her say it again. A hard silence sat between them, and she could hear Anders not eating as he waited for her answer.

"I do." She admitted in a hoarse whisper. The words seemed to echo in the empty kitchen as Anders tried to formulate an answer.

"Then you should tell him, if he's who you really want." The advise came out strained, his voice thin and nearly harsh. Marian shook her head, then regretted the movement, it made the room spin out of control. Putting her face in her hands, she waited for the room to steady itself again.

"No, listen." Anders began between bites of bread. "It shouldn't matter if you're a mage and he isn't. That's what we're fighting for. Freedom. You should be free to love whomever, and he should be free to accept it, not indoctrinated by the Chantry. Even if he doesn't deserve it."

Marian felt a rush of gratitude towards Anders, her eyes filling with tears at the sentiment.


	13. Mend (Wesley and Marian)

Marian's absence created a deep void in his days, and it crept into him, making him feel hollow within his very soul. Wesley didn't know when he'd come to expect to see her nearly everyday, but without her visits to the Keep or asking him to accompany her, he felt adrift and melancholy, inclined to dour, sullen silence. The missing was unbearable, but it was his own guilt that crushed him. The echos of his thoughtless words and accusations, prompted by unfounded fears and reinforced by a lifetime in the Chantry taunted him whenever he closed his eyes. The memory of her distraught, wounded face as she told him to get out made him cringe, shame welling up inside of him.  
  
Walking by her estate every day, only the thought that he wouldn't be let in kept him from knocking on the door and pretending as if he were just calling on Leandra. If Marian came to the Viscount's Keep, he never saw her, and he wondered what business kept her elsewhere. With every passing moment he thought of her, worried for her, missed her, and grew more furious with himself for arguing with her.  
  
Marian was a mage, of course she'd help other mages. Her family defied his Order for her whole life, harboring three apostates. And didn't she have a good point, Kirkwall spinning out of control enough without fights between mage and templar. His apprehension that she may turn into an abomination or worse felt unfounded in the daylight, with his ample spare time to think about it. They'd fought worse together, people that weren't mages or possessed and were amongst the lowest of scum.  
  
Sufficient words for an apology couldn't formulate in his mind, and with each day the gap between them grew in proportion to his guilt. But he didn't know how to go to her and explain, the words too caustic to just smooth over. He'd insulted her, debased her very being, and it would take more than words to put things right.  
  
The distance between them was making him brittle with weariness, and several people, the Knight-Captain, Donnic, and even the Viscount commented on his ashen appearance. Wesley gave up trying to appease the Knight-Commander in their dealings, who seemed to take his distraction as a kind of victory, and she began praising his efforts.  
  
He found it a perverse kind of funny that once he stopped being able to make the effort was when he got recognized.  
  
Sebastian visited him unexpectedly in the Keep, their meeting brief. He got the feeling that the man wanted to say something to him, but held it in. Once again, there was a subtext that Wesley was missing, and it made him feel Marian's absence more acutely, piercing within him.  
  
"I'm not privy to the details that of what transpired between the two of you, but I think you should put it behind you. She's hurting, Ser Wesley." He stated, the words confirming his fears. "Make things right. She's not unreasonable, and she'd be inclined to listen to you."  
  
Part of him had foolishly wished that Marian would forget their fight, that she didn't care enough about him for it bother her more than an annoying insect bite. Behind his desk, Wesley covered his burning eyes with a heavy hand, his head ringing with a sharp pain. If there had been a way for him to go back and erase his hateful, misguided words from her mind, he would.  
  
Formulating a response in his head proved too difficult, and Sebastian took pity on him instead of waiting for an answer.  
  
"As ever, if you need to speak with me, I'd be more than happy to listen. You can find me in the Chantry." Sebastian reminded him as he stood to leave. "As a friend or a brother. I can take your confession if you like."  
  
Wesley nodded, the movement taking more effort than it should have. The archer seemed to understand he was in some kind of pain, and left silently, leaving Wesley alone in his office. Head met desk, and the coolness of the smooth expanse brought some measure of relief, though not nearly enough. Illness manifested from his conscience, and he wanted nothing more than his bed in the barracks. No comfort would be found within the Keep now, but he dreaded walking outside, past her house once more.  
  
An indeterminate amount of time passed before Wesley had to rouse himself, a soft knock coming from his door. Whomever was behind it was thoughtful enough to wait for him to call out a weak invitation before actually entering, and he was sitting upright, a ready stack of papers pushed in front of him to maintain his facade of activity. Donnic entered, his careful movements quiet and mindful of Wesley's recent strained demeanor.  
  
"I thought you should know, one of your fellows has gotten himself into something, and involved the guard." Donnic started as he sat in a guest chair.  
  
Whenever his friend came to visit, he didn't sit and the small action made alarms ring out in his head, his personal crisis pushed out of his mind in favor of whatever news Donnic was about to impart. Usually cases like these were recruits too drunk or disorderly at a bar or a whorehouse, but the Captain's grave look made Wesley sit up straighter behind his desk.  
  
"Do you know of a nobleman in the city, Gascard DuPuis?"  
  
"Haven't heard of him. Orlesian?" Wesley asked the obvious, as he reached back in his mind, wondering if Marian had ever mentioned him. De Launcet, he remembered both her and Leandra mentioning, but not DuPuis.  
  
"Sounds like, but I haven't had a chance to meet him. Look, Ser Emeric has still been investigating those deaths, the ones Serah Hawke looked into a while back, and he got some of my guardsmen to go into DuPuis's mansion looking for clues."  
  
At the sound her name Wesley pressed his eyes closed, but otherwise betrayed no other sign of discomfort.  
  
"Did they find anything of interest?" He asked.  
  
"They didn't find anything, but it's not as if DuPuis is going to leave a lot of it out where the guards can see it. The house needs to be searched, but word has already gotten back to Meredith."  
  
He made a whistling, hard sound as he drew in a breath. She'd know Emeric was involved and there would be repercussions, especially if there was a displeased noble causing a ruckus. Donnic continued, "Now, I'm not sure Emeric was wrong, but we can't go back in."  
  
"What do you need?" Wesley was confused. If Donnic couldn't go back in, and Emeric was already in trouble with Meredith, there was little he could do.  
  
"I thought that maybe you could ask," Donnic's dark gaze dropped the the hands clasped in his lap, "Serah Hawke to look into it. She could talk to Emeric and find out what he knows, do a proper search."  
  
Of course, it was exactly the type of thing Marian would get involved in. Not only was she outside the jurisdiction of any agency rules, she was a charming, charismatic noble who could get answers if she confronted DuPuis. After giving a small nod confirming that he'd ask her, the room filled with the clangs and creaking of armor as the Guard-Captain got up. Donnic stopped as he was leaving, turning back towards Wesley.  
  
"Look, I have to say something. You've missed a whole patch where you normally shave, just under your chin." He pointed out, as kindly as he possibly could. Hands flew to the spot, forgetting he was wearing armor and he regretted it instantly when they bumped roughly against his chin. "Are you alright?"  
  
Wesley motioned for him to sit back down again, heaving a heavy sigh. When Donnic reclaimed his seat, the short version of his misdirected fear, and subsequent fight with Hawke came out.  
  
"Now, I don't know how to make things right." Wesley confessed.  
  
"You want a copper's worth of free advice?" Donnic asked, looking Wesley square in the eye.  
  
"Sure."  
  
"You don't have to know what to say, just go over there and say something. Every minute that you don't makes things worse. But stop punishing yourself endlessly. You screwed up. From time to time, people are allowed to do that, so long as you make things better, not worse."  
  
The words were the impetus he needed, and Wesley closed his office, ready to face her again. Not only did he need her assistance with this before it became an incident, but he had to go before his courage faltered, and he resumed sulking in his office.   
  
Bodahn seemed hesitant to let him in, undoubtedly aware of the tension between the templar and Hawke, leaving him waiting nervously in the library. The room felt ominous, cast as the scene of his downfall in his memories, and he shuddered. The giant, creepy statue didn't help, eyes following him as he fidgeted about the room.  
  
"What are you doing here?" Marian's clipped voice asked without preamble as she strode into the room. She was wearing the finery she always wore at home, but she was different. Instead of their normal bright blue, her eyes were dark and cloudy, her normally disheveled hair an absolute mess, though he saw the signs of where she'd attempted to smooth it down.  
  
It was an endearingly intimate look, and he'd imagined her this way after a night spent together. After spending so much time away, his body reacted to just the sight of her, heat coursing through him. The creamy line of her neck had creases from where her collar pressed into it, and her clothes wrinkled as if she'd slept in them.  
  
"I need your help." He said, his eyes casting his eyes downward, contrition pouring from his very being. When she said nothing, he went on. "Emeric has been continuing with his investigation. You remember him, he was looking for Mharen, the escaped Circle Mage. But he's hit a snag and templars will probably be banned from working on this, so I can't officially do anything."  
  
"Why come to me, Wesley?" She asked, her face morphing as she recalled Emeric. Mostly angry turned into something more like confusion as the thoughts churned.  
  
"Donnic asked for you specifically, but that's not the only reason." He explained quickly. "If there are women dying, if there is a mad man out there, I would trust no one but you to find the killer."  
  
"The Knight-Commander isn't happy about this continuing investigation?"  
  
"Guardsmen tried to search a house in Hightown, thinking that they might find something for Emeric, and the noble who owned it wasn't too happy about their intrusion. It got back to Meredith that Emeric was behind it all." Wesley said, still looking daggers at her.  
  
"I see." Marian's eyes wandered over Wesley, who looked his discomfort at being in her house again. It had been ages since he'd come to call and under her glare he wasn't sure it had been a bad idea to stay away. "Wouldn't I just be doing further meddling? I am a mage you know, not to be trusted."  
  
"You can't imagine how those words have haunted me." Wesley admitted, eyes downcast at the floor as he toed at the rug. "I apologize, Marian. I'm so very sorry."  
  
He couldn't think of how else to articulate what he wanted to say to her. It felt inappropriate to tell her that he loved her, that when he considered her life, the dangers she consistently dealt with it made an icy fear twist within his guts. But an apology was a place to start, just a way to begin fixing things.  
  
After all this time and the fight that loomed over them, Marian wasn't sure how she felt. There was a strange relief at seeing him back in her house, speaking to him again, but also at knowing he suffered without her. All one had to do was glance at the man, he bore the unmistakable markers of agony, and he stood before her penitent, an unspoken need for forgiveness pulsing from him. He was thinner and pale, dark shadow covering his face in uneven patches, eyes red with fatigue, but she knew she couldn't look much better.  
  
She nodded at him, unable to stop her eyes from welling with tears. Why did his approval mean so much to her? Just seeing him before her made Marian want to forget everything between them, but she couldn't. Everything between them was everything that was happening in all of Thedas, between mages and templars and it had finally boiled over, ruining the flirtation in their friendship.  
  
Things felt stark, as if the world were made of corners and she'd cut herself just by handling her everyday things. No matter what move she made, she was going to get hurt. When she glanced back at him, he was still looking at her with hazel eyes pleading. It wasn't just about what he'd said, but rather that he'd said it, that those doubts made a home in his head. For whatever reason, he mattered to her, had taken up space in her heart and it caused her no end of pain.  
  
Whenever she thought of love, her mind inevitably turned to her parents. They shared a daring, almost storybook love that made Marian a little jealous to think of. With her, she things were confusing and muddy, no clear solutions like running away were able to fix everything. Wesley was still staring at her, growing more nervous as the time passed by, each second an age.  
  
"Alright. I'll go see Emeric at the Gallows." Marian acquiesced in a shaking voice.  
  
"I'll tell him you'll be around." Wesley said, the words puffing out on a relieved breath. "I missed you." He mumbled the admission as an afterthought, in an almost broken way, the words quieter than their predecessors.  
  
"I missed you, too." The urge to go to him, wrapping him in an embrace that ended in a kiss was almost overwhelming. There was still much more that needed to be said, but his honest, ragged apology had been like a balm she hadn't realized she'd needed. Knowing that Wesley missed her was another thing altogether, and the small admission made her feel closer to whole.  
  
With that, Wesley nodded at her and turned around to leave. After he'd gone, Marian felt lighter, somehow less but more as she walked by a smiling Leandra on her way back up to her bedroom.  
  
"He's a good choice, Marian." Her mother called after. Marian turned, and looked over her shoulder at her mother.  
  
"For a templar?"  
  
"For anyone. We can't help who we fall in love with, darling." Leandra advised sagely, a smile still playing at the ends of her mouth.  
  
Marian nodded, and walked upstairs, ready to change and head to the Gallows.  
  
"Bodahn, see if you can catch Wesley. Tell him I'm going to the Gallows now." She shouted, running up the remainder of the stairs.


	14. Want and Need (Wesley)

Dutifully, Marian tracked down the leads after she killed Gascard DuPuis at his estate. After seeing the hysterical hostage in his bedroom, Wesley didn't disagree with her decision. Only when they found Emeric dead, once the shades had slain the elder templar did anyone in the Order think to take action. The situation was uncomfortable, he and Marian had just made a shaky peace before embarking on the mission, only to find that magic was involved, possibly dark magic. The Order was served by the death of DuPuis, and he could make a full report to Meredith, confident that she'd be receptive to his renewed ties with Marian. Certainly, he was certain that no one would find fault in her actions, the blood mage was up to more than he'd said in that house.

Within a day he saw her again, she summoned him to accompany her to find her mother. She'd sent a hired runner, a tiny, quick boy who was among one of the Fereldan orphans Bodahn used for errands, who frantically told him to get to the Hawke estate. Leandra was missing and had just gotten a bunch of white lilies. Fury loosed, Wesley watched Marian unleash her powers on anything standing in the way of finding her mother. His heart convulsed in his chest at the thought of Leandra mixed up with some kind of killer, unwittingly placing herself in danger. Varric and Anders had accompanied them, both grimly silent as they made their way further into the musty subterranean lair of her abductor.

Unfortunately, they did find Leandra, but far too late to have any hope of saving her. Regret clawed at him, emotions welling up and closing Wesley's throat as he watched Marian cradling her mother, saying goodbye.

"My little girl has become so strong." The words came slowly, the effort behind each audible.

"Goodbye, Mother." Marian was stoic for her mother, trying to ease the dying woman's worry about leaving her eldest child alone.

Wesley hardly felt as if he deserved to stand next to Marian, witness to such an intimate moment of heartbreak. Though they'd stopped avoiding each other, he could hardly say that things were back to normal between them. All at once it was too much, just getting Marian back in his life and all that lay unsaid between them, things that would stay unspoken and unexplained in the wake of tragedy. Tears burned his eyes as he tried to hold them in, and Wesley watched with a resigned horror as Leandra's labored breaths stopped. A melancholy hush blanketed the group as Leandra closed her eyes, Marian's heavy head drooping as she realized her mother was gone.

That night he went to her, after asking Donnic and the city-guards to see Leandra's body, and calling upon his fellow templars to cleanse the filthy little hideout that Quentin had filled with his deranged relics and books. An unusually quiet Bodahn let him in, wordlessly leading him to her. Marian was sitting, simply sitting on the bed, looking at the hands neatly clasped in her lap when he entered her bedroom. It was hard to discern whether she was in shock or simply too weary to function anymore.

He'd never been in the room before, despite having been to her house numerous times. The scarlet room suited her personality, brash and passionate, but refined as well. He didn't dwell on the decor as crossed the large room, sitting on the bed next to her, as close as he could get to her slumped frame. For a moment all he could think of was his own loss, the feeling he felt knowing that Leandra wasn't ever going to be around anymore, and the pit of emptiness that welled within him at the thought. Their conversations and short relationship, really starting when Marian went to the Deep Roads, despite getting to Kirkwall together felt like too little, that he'd somehow squandered his time with her But this wasn't about how he felt, rather, how to give his support to Marian who had lost yet another family member.

Though Carver lived, she would be here alone, losing her mother a void that nothing could replace. There was something awful about losing close family, everyday a trial, wondering how time can pass without seeing their face, feeling their presence or hearing their words. It felt like that after Aveline, the consuming sadness making him gasp in pain when he realized he couldn't hear her voice calling out to him, or the music of her laughter, that even her tears were lost to him and there was nothing more they could share together.

"I don't know what would possibly be of comfort, but your mother loved you dearly. She told me whenever we spoke, how proud she was of you, and how you held her together after everything in Ferelden." Wesley's voice stuck in his throat, and he had to clear it several times before he could go on. It was changed, raw, filled with his own helpless fury and desolation as he the tight control he'd clamped over his emotions completely eroded. "She loved you, so much." He finished in a ragged voice, unable to say anything more articulate.

"Thank you." Marian said softly. They sat together in silence for several minutes before she found her voice again. "Do you miss Aveline?"

"Every day. But not the same way every day."

"That's comforting." Marian said, resting her head on his chest, looping an arm awkwardly around her shoulders. He wished he'd had the forethought to ditch his armor, but he didn't even think about it before coming over, his priority on seeing how she was faring. "I just need to know that I won't collapse from this feeling. If I feel like this for the rest of my life, it won't be very long." She sniffled, and tears flowed down his armor. He felt her body shuddering with sobs, and though he tried to hold it in, a few errant tears of his own joined with hers.

"If you do collapse, I'll beside you. I won't let you fall." Wesley told her, meaning it. He wished he could do something more, anything, but he didn't know what else there was to be done. He wanted to apologize, to fix the mess that had come between them, that kept her from coming to him for weeks, but it wasn't appropriate now. The time for apologies had passed, but he hadn't made them. She needed him, and Wesley offered all of himself to her.

"I'll never leave you again." He promised.

"Will you stay?" She asked, her voice nearly incomprehensible through her tears.

"Are you sure you want me to?" Wesley wasn't sure if he should, or even if he could, but he didn't want to leave her alone.

Marian's tear stained, blotchy face looked miserably up at him, and nodded.

"Of course." He answered, reaching a hand out to her as he did. Careful fingers pushed her messy hair away from her face, tender through the armor. He'd stay as long as she needed.

It was still dark outside the windows when he woke up, but he could feel the sunrise on the horizon. It was cold in the way it only was just before dawn, but he didn't mind. He was clad in old clothes of Carver's, the shirt devoid of sleeves and slightly big on him, worn sleeping trousers made soft by repeated washings. Marian was still sprawled next to him, one of her arms thrown across his chest. Sleep made her softer, warm and delicate, but even in her fitful rest, shock and sadness emanated from her. When he moved, even as carefully as he tried, it seemed to jostle her, and those blue eyes cracked open.

"Wesley?" Her groggy voice was momentarily confused, but then she visibly recoiled, breaking down as she recalled the last few hours. These sobs were expected, he'd done it himself, relived the shock and sorrow in equal measure upon waking. Wesley gathered her in his arms, stroking her hair in a comforting way, his body rocking against hers as if she were a child. It wasn't as it had been before, these new tears were angry and hopeless as they streamed down her face.

The tears passed, with a few errant sniffles here and there. Wesley thought they'd go back to bed, seeking the undiluted solace of slumber since the sun still hadn't risen, but she didn't. Unexpectedly, he felt her hot, wet lips kissing his neck, under his jaw. Surprise shook him, the scene surreal, grotesquely fantastic, a fantasy mixed with horror. That Wesley should get the kisses he'd craved from the mage, but to have her caresses laden with tears twisted the triumph he felt.

A soft hand swept across the expanse of his chest, sending sparks through him. Her lips finally met his and she kissed him, fiercely, clasping his mouth against hers. All thought was lost as he kissed her back, pulling her closer to his body, their unbroken kiss growing in ferocity and intensity. For a few moments, he just enjoyed it, tasting her, touching his tongue to hers, feeling her body under his hands.

It was glorious, smothered moans coming from both as they kissed with an almost angry passion, their teeth clicking at each renewed onslaught. Marian's kisses were more potent than anything he could dream up, but a trickle of ugly guilt wormed into his mind, building up and crashing over him, breaking through the want that set his skin alight. He was disgusted with himself, his actions without honor. Summoning all of his willpower, Wesley started disentangling himself from Marian. The more he tried, the harder she held on, kissing him with harsher lips, demanding more, her hand under the thin linen of his shirt.

"This is amazing, but we can't. You're in shock. Grieving." He gasped out, trying to put distance between himself and Marian. Her hand had just delved into his trousers, and he was already aroused.

"But I want you. I want you, Wesley." She said, her voice almost begging, pleading with him. Straining his neck up to see her, he looked her in the eye, determined to make her see reason. He made to issue another weak protest, but in truth, her words had undone his resolve. Sensing her victory, she gave him a roguish smile as her hand wrapped around his cock and began stroking him, the sensation sending sparks up his spine.

"Oh Marian." Wesley's head fell back onto the pillow with a small thump as pulled away his clothes, exposing his heated skin to the cool air. Her mouth descended upon his cock, and she worked with vigor, her fist moving in concert with her tongue, pumping the base as she sucked at the head.

Years had passed since he'd had sex, loneliness and frustration built up in him, along with his deep desire for Marian. He loved her, and she was here, however broken she was, making fire coil in his belly. A deep, wild groan tumbled from his lips, and he gave in, pushing his hips in time with her. Clasping a hand in her hair, he bucked beneath her and he felt her draw away from his tensed body in anticipation. He came hard, form going almost completely rigid beneath her as he released. Breath coming in short, gasping bursts, he felt her take more of him in her mouth, working him through his orgasm.

She crawled back up his body, kissing his chest as she went past it, and he pulled her into a rough embrace, heart still hammering. They kissed and he could taste the salt and bitter of his fluid on her tongue, as he slid his hands under her clothes. Words of love were forming in his confused mind, clouded with the pleasured sparks of an intense 'd needed to touch her, to see Marian for so long and he held his breath in anticipation, gentle fingers brushing over the curves of her body.

"Do you want breakfast?" Marian asked, moving away from his prowling hands. She scooted just out of his reach, as if she needed to put just enough distance between them. Outside he could see the colorful sunrise streaming through the window, and she was sitting up against it, a dark silhouette against the kaleidoscope of rising lights.

"Don't you want to carry on?" Wesley asked in return, sitting up. He winced at the sound of the question, it seemed inappropriate and more than a little selfish, but he was honestly confused by her retreat. He wanted to kiss her the way he should have last night, remind her that she wasn't alone, not so long as he drew breath.

Intending to reach out to her again, he nearly did, but then thought better of it. Instead he used his hands to push himself up against the headboard, flattening his back against the cool wood. The welcome cold seeped into his back, rousing him out of a haze of lust.

"I think it'd be better if we had breakfast." Marian said, avoiding the question. She smiled strangely, almost anxious, as if she needed to get away from him. "I'll bring it to you. Don't move." She said, bolting off the bed.

Appalled at his own beastly behavior, he watched her near running from her own room, inwardly cursing the desire that made him so willing to give into her kisses. He should have understood, how grief twists emotions, makes people crave comforts and feelings that remind them of life. Marian needed care, not some lecher taking advantage of her the moment her defenses were down.

Minutes passed, and he formulated an apology in his head, thought up ways to make it up to her. It was time, well past time for him to tell her how much he cared for her. Maybe it wouldn't be enough to explain away his actions, but she at least needed to know he hadn't intended to hurt her in any way. He loved her, and she deserved better than this.

With that thought in his mind, he made himself decent, lacing up his trousers and stepped from her room. Intent on setting things right, Wesley set out for the kitchen and headed that way, but stopped at the top of the stairs. Marian was seated there, clutching at the bannister with a subdued Sandal patting her on the top of her head.

"I went to go see if Mother wanted anything." She explained when he sat down next to her. "Then I remembered." Her voice broke, and she was sobbing again, this time deep and painfully, choking as she laid against his chest.

Later. He'd explain everything - tell her that he loved her later, when she would actually hear him.


	15. Unlaced and Retied (Marian)

It would seem the endless death and grief was to be her lot.

And then there was Wesley, who left her feeling things she didn't even understand anymore. They were past whatever friendship they'd had and in some nebulous, undefinable area. Marian could feel his regret, he looked absolutely consumed with guilt whenever she caught his gaze. Part of her felt guilty as well, she was aware that he didn't return her feelings and she'd still gone on, selfishly, kissing him. That morning, waking up with him and feeling so alone, the want had been almost overwhelming, and she'd finally acted on it.

It had been too hard to deny herself the temptation of Wesley, she'd been hurting too much and he had been right there, as she'd always dreamed. Sleeping with his arms wrapped around her, it was easy to discard the reason why he was there, forget that everything was wrong. It was shameful, the way she'd begged him in bed, slipping her hand around his tense cock and branding him with her kisses, but those memories were a few moments of a dream fulfilled. Those recollections were what she thought of every night before sleep, the few beautiful moments when she could trick herself into thinking Wesley was hers.

But the fantasy had shattered before he'd even left her bed. Marian had looked up at him with her mouth still around his cock, working at him. His head was thrown back, eyes closed and expression rapturous, as she realized how wrong the scene was. They hadn't finally found their way to each other, he was comforting her, indulging her because the realities of life were too awful and grim at the moment.

They'd had just enough sex to ruin their friendship and leave her nearly insane with frustration. Dealings between the pair had an uncomfortable, stilted quality, a tension they both tried not to acknowledge but didn't know how to diffuse. The city only added to Marian's ever increasing load of complications, and when the Viscount announced that his son, Saemus, had left for the Qunari, she felt an ill foreboding. It was just the act needed to tilt Kirkwall into unbridled madness, zealots of all kinds itching for a reason to boil over.

When the events played to its tragic end, Saemus Dumar was dead, along with the infuriatingly short-sighted Sister Petrice and her pack of wild fanatics, leaving Marian almost too exhausted and heartbroken to go on. There was no way the Qunari would stay silent and inactive now. Nothing she could do to prevent the impending bloodshed just on the horizon.

In normal times she would have talked to Leandra, her mother offering advice or counsel, at the very least comfort. Without her around, Marian went to her friends in turn, but with the exception of Varric, she found no solace in the words offered to her. In her heart, she knew that what she needed was to talk with Wesley, to sweep away the cautious, excessive politeness that characterized their recent interactions.

There was no determination in her step as she left her house, and her feet took her many places, to the Blooming Rose, where a sweetly sensitive Jethann kissed her forehead before pointing her out of the door. She went to the Hanged Man, browsed the shops in the market and even went to the Chantry before she finally forced herself up the stairs to the Viscount's Keep.

"Are you well, seneschal?" She hadn't come to talk to Bran, but felt almost compelled once she was in the Keep to go and see him. Skipping over Wesley's door, she headed straight into his office, entering at his terse invitation.

"What do you think?" He asked snidely, though her concern was unexpected, almost touching.

"You often seemed to argue with Saemus, but I expect you'll miss him."

"Dearly. He and I were at odds more and more as he grew older, but I am, was, proud of him. I watched him become a man, and I cannot help but lament his loss. I shall miss that child more than I can say." He finished wearily, looking sadly out of his own window and not at her face. Marian felt a flood of emotions wash over her, an unexpected empathy with the seneschal for his loss.

"I am so, so sorry." Marian choked out, the feelings overwhelming her. Her hands were heavy with the feeling of Saemus's body in them, set up by the scheming Mother. As he slid away from her, slumping onto the floor, the threads of his clothes tore in her hand as she tried to hold onto him. She could see Carver's face in her mind, so eager to go to the Deep Roads, and the awful, shining dark that crept into his eyes once he was tainted. Bethany sprawled lifelessly against an empty landscape assaulted her memory next, her sister so young and lost.

Bran was standing in front of her, having moved from behind his desk while was consumed with her own thoughts. He was peering at her, trying to discern the cause of her unexpected reaction. Marian felt almost selfish, and most definitely foolish in front of the grieving man, making his pain about her own. With wild eyes she looked down at her own hands to be sure the threads of Saemus's false Chantry garb were gone, blowing out a relieved breath when she saw they were empty.

"Your mother?" He asked quietly.

"Bethany and Carver."

"Ah, yes, your siblings. I can see why it might remind you. Do you carry every death with you?"

"Yes." She replied, the noise barely a whisper. It felt as if they were all heaped upon her right at that moment.

"But your brother is a Warden now if I am correct."

"You don't just sign up." Marian jested weakly, and he gave her a small chuckle.

"No, I suppose that is true." He said, sighing heavily. His fingers reached out to caress her face, a tiny thoughtful gesture. She leaned into the tentative touch, encouraging him as he let his hand drift up to her hair. A thumb grazed across her jawline, drawing upwards toward her ear, trailing up her neck. Marian let out her own sigh, but instead of frustration or grief, hers sounded of relief.

Then in the next second, unsure of how it happened, they were kissing, Marian's back flush against the door, pressed by his insistent hips. He kissed her hungrily, hands groping through her robes, his lips almost bruising hers. She threaded her fingers through his ginger hair, tugging softly on the silken locks as they continued to kiss, barely able to breathe through the onslaught of his lips.

Her body responded with vigor, being so deprived of touches since her interlude with Wesley. Nipples beaded under the weight of his chest flattened against hers, her body flushed with eager want, and she heard herself whimpering, groaning into their kiss. Wesley - no, _Bran_ , was busy exploring her body, endless caresses turning her skin to fire, hands lifting her skirt to skim her bare legs underneath and she moaned, wanting nothing more than to feel the digits digging into the soft flesh of her thigh.

In her mind she could see Wesley, as she'd fantasized about him. Bending her over the dress, filling her from behind, listening to her moan his name. Or sliding her up against the wall and letting her mount his cock with her legs wrapped around him, chin resting on the soft flesh where neck met shoulder. In her mind he was smiling at her, her kisses and affections welcome and returned enthusiastically. The barrage of erotic images pulled another savage moan from her, uncontrolled and wild as it dribbled from her lips.

Bran stepped back from her abruptly, ending their kiss. She felt her skirt fall back down, a puff of air gushing around her ankles as they settled into place again.

"What?" Marian asked, confused. "I thought you were enjoying yourself."

"Immensely." Bran said in a strained voice. "But you weren't here with _me_ and I demand your full attention."

In question, she simply stared at him, lust still fogging her eyes. Bran gave a small grunt of disapproval before continuing.

"Was that my name on your lips, or Ser Wesley's?"

Immediately her eyes fell downcast, and she couldn't think of anything to say. Shame welled up within her, firmly driving away her desire. She hadn't realized she'd _said_ anything, much less called Wesley's name.

"Did I offend?" She asked in a small voice, to which Bran gave a harsh chuckle.

"No. You are thinking of yourself again." He clucked, sounding almost amused, but she could hear the taut control that it took to keep his voice level.

"You are hurt because you care for the templar, but don't project it onto me. Your preoccupation doesn't offend me, but it does create a problem." Bran mused. "You'd want from me something I can't offer, whatever it is that you and he haven't worked out. All I am willing to give you is my cock, and while I would keep you more than satisfied all afternoon, it simply wouldn't be enough. Things would get messy...and you tend to kill people that complicate things for you."

That was true enough, Marian realized as a sheepish, shameful laugh escaped her reddened lips. Bran stepped further away from her, settling on the edge of his desk, looking her in the eye. She forced herself to stare back at the man, something shifting between them. Understanding came, and a wave of gratitude washing over her.

"Go find your foolish templar and truly work out your quarrel before it is too late, and neither of you knows how or what to apologize for." He advised. "That's all you'll get from me today. I'm going to sit here kicking myself because I'll never get to see your sweet breasts now." He ended with another dark laugh, trying to make a joke of his frustration.

She smiled at Bran, but stayed against his door. With quick, deft movements, she unlaced her robes in the front, letting them hang open. His narrowed brown eyes watched her, knuckles turning whiter as he gripped the edge of his desk. Shimmying, she slid the robes to her waist and unlatched her breastband, exposing herself to him. When she was finished, she heard his sharp intake of breath as he raked eyes over her display of flesh.

Bran got up from the desk, a hand outstretched, but stopped just short of touching her. He didn't ask, but she nodded a consent to him, closing her eyes as his hands came into contact with her skin. Gentle fingertips dusted over the swath of exposed flesh just beneath her breasts, then he touched just above them, the soft hands light as they slid lower to cup her. He flicked a nipple lightly, teasing the already hard end, but when he bent at the waist, it was to press a kiss to the soft valley between her breasts. He plucked the breastband from her limp hand and re-latching it around her, his experienced fingers not needing to see the series of hooks he worked. Bran pulled up her robes again, almost his touch almost reverential.

"You are _perfection_." He breathed into her ear.

"Thank you." Marian said, tightening the laces on her robes, putting herself back together.

"No, thank you, the pleasure was all mine." Bran smirked, sitting back into the chair behind his desk. "Settle your business with the templar." He reminded her, not daring to look up into her face. It was almost impossible for him to let her leave, he could see himself falling, madly, inconveniently into a deep infatuation with her, but his pride refused to let him be a stand in for Wesley bloody Vallen.

Outside his office, Marian felt unnerved at the thought of truly facing Wesley and having the talk they'd avoided for so long, Bran's words all too accurate as they rang in her ears. She was still hurting from their fight, no matter what kind of peace they'd forged after Mother's death. Neither of them had been able to talk about it, besides his apology, necessitated to get her help with Emeric. But it still hung between them, impeding the friendship. Marian tried the door to Wesley's office, her urgent need to speak to him rising with every step away from the seneschal, but the door was closed and locked, no one responding to her knocks.

When she got back to her house, he was there, waiting for her.

"I kissed the seneschal." She said by way of greeting. Tact had never been her strong suit, but watching Wesley's face contort angrily at her words just made her feel responsible and tired, devoid of the tiny bit of pleasure she might have derived from it in the past. But she had to honest with him, unable to take more guilt piled upon her.

"You what?" Wesley asked in alarm.

"I was sad about Saemus and it reminded me of Bethany and Carver, and he was sad and not a bastard for the briefest moment in time and we kissed." She explained horribly, watching Wesley's face grow stormier with every word. "But he kicked me out of his office and told me to go find you and fix our fight because he knew I didn't really want him. He was right, Wesley. We need to settle things between us."

"Are you going to sleep with him next time we disagree?" Wesley asked, joking, but his stern face showed his concern. He'd experienced Marian's reaction to hurt, and grief, figuring out that she tended to seek out sexual comforts when she was most wounded.

"No, no, it wasn't really about wanting him." Well, it was a little, the seneschal was an attractive man, but she chided herself, Bran wasn't the issue. He had been right, painfully right when he pushed her away.

"I just miss our friendship, the closeness, everything that we had before we went up Sundermount." She said, pinpointing the time when their friendship had gone off track. "I know you worry about me and have mixed feelings about my sympathies, but can't we learn to respectfully disagree about that one thing?" Her blue eyes were questioning, seeking out a reassurance as she spoke. Wesley moved closer to her but didn't touch her, his arms still at his sides, face blank.

"We're so good together otherwise, aligned on most everything else." Marian pleaded, trying to explain the thoughts that had clouded her head night after night. At the core of it all, she and Wesley were friends, despite all his station and her magic. She had feelings for him as well, though she didn't want to explore those thoughts right after being so intimately touched by someone else, the ghost of Bran's fingertips still on her skin.

"I'm sorry again, for not making more of an effort to explain before. Mages and templars are a big issue, bigger than us, but we shouldn't let it end what we have." He said. Marian felt her face breaking into a big, soppy grin, but she couldn't hold it back. After weeks of torment, grief and guilt, it felt liberating to hear him say those words. She launched herself forward, her arms wrapping around him in a ferocious hug.

Wesley leaned close to Marian and brought his forehead to hers, speaking in a low voice. "But you should know that I will always stand with you. I love you so much." He admitted, and she let out a half laugh of relief, the revelation sending tingles throughout her whole body.

"I love you, too" Marian answered, smiling while wrapping her arms around his neck. His lips were right in front of hers, so close that she felt drawn to them, her eyes closing just as she was about to close the scant distance.

"I hate to interrupt, but I'm going to die!" Isabela's impatient voice rang out from behind them, jolting the two apart just before their lips met.


	16. Calm Before the Storm (Marian)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I deviate from canon a bit more in this section, because I change the reason why the elves convert to the Qun to make it work with the templar background.

"No." Wesley said, breaking away from Marian, much to her chagrin. Without his warm, anchoring, bulk next to her, she felt exposed, an uncomfortably cool breeze wafting through the door Isabela had left open as she'd charged into the mansion. "There was a reason I came here."

"I think we all know what that was, but it'll have to wait." Isabela grimaced at him, while at the same time leering. She was the only one that could manage such a look and it was enough to make Marian give a snort of laughter. "I need to talk to Hawke."

"Hold on you two. Wesley was here first, Isabela." She declared, realizing she never did ask why he was in her house when she got back from the Keep.

"The Qunari. The Knight-Commander will never admit it, but she could use your assistance, as could the Viscount, but he's in no place to ask for it. A templar went to investigate claims of a blood mage in the alienage and was killed by some elves, who then converted to the Qun. The Arishok won't turn them over and Meredith is demanding Dumar do something to get them back before she sends us to march on the Qunari."

"I'm going to die!" Isabela repeated, a little edgier this time.

"What happened to the templar in the alienage?" Marian asked Wesley.

"It was a trap, he was ambushed as he went to investigate, but we have no idea why they set the trap. The owners of the house deny involvement and they are the ones claiming the protection of the Qun." He explained, and Marian closed her eyes, covering them with one hand. That was a mess that wouldn't turn out good for any of the parties involved. Dead templars were always a terrible business. Drawing in a deep breath, and reopening her eyes, she turned to Isabela.

"What's your story?" Marian asked as she watched her pirate friend, who was nervously toeing the carpet at her boots. That small action, more than anything else, sent alarm coursing through Marian. Isabela was never, ever nervous.

"I've found the relic, but if we don't go after it soon, I'm going to die. Castillon is at the end of his patience with me."

"You just now heard about the relic?" She asked.

"I've been keeping an ear out for it. There's a guy named Wall-Eyed Sam, he used to run with Martin, you remember him?" Marian nodded and the other woman went on. "Well, he's become something of a magpie, always picking up things that don't belong to him on the off chance that they might be worth something. Well, he's the one that's had my b- the relic, and he's going to trade it away soon. It's mine, I need it so Castillon won't kill me."

Marian stood there, considering her options. As she mulled them over in her head, she looked out the window of her estate. Her naked neighbors were parading around again, the sight all too familiar, almost normal - at least for them, as if they didn't know how the city was about to erupt. She ignored them as she pondered, unsure of what to do first. Looking between Wesley and Isabela one last time, Marian closed her eyes and decided.

"We have to help Isabela. The Arishok won't do anything without provocation, not yet anyway, and we've got to move before Wall-Eyed Sam makes the trade." She explained, snapping her eyes open to look at Wesley.

"Fine. But we have to speak with the Arishok before Meredith does." Wesley cautioned.

"I know. That's why we're moving at nightfall. Isabela, go make sure Fenris is ready." She instructed the woman, ready to let her leave, but was stopped by Wesley.

"I'm overdue at the Keep, but I can make a stop to tell him. I'll see you tonight." He said, looking at Marian. She could hear the undercurrent directing his words, the silent promise to finish their conversation. Just once she wished that a nighttime engagement didn't have to include battle or work, but she nodded mutely, suppressing her deep desire to beg him to stay all afternoon with her. It wasn't fair at all that she found out he returned her love, that he wanted her, just as Kirkwall was coming apart at the seams, but then again, what in her life had been fair?

Isabela eyed her as she watched Wesley leave, her mischievous deep brown eyes sparkling with questions. Marian didn't want to dissect what had happened for an audience yet, so she focused elsewhere, wondering what type of trouble they would get into retrieving this relic. She walked over to her storage chest, intending to find her best weapons. Things could get tense if other people were interested in this relic and Sam's buyers wouldn't be happy about their appearance. Apparently Isabela didn't pick up on her cue, and Marian found her still giving her the same lascivious look when she turned around again.

"So the two of you, after all this time?"

"Yeah, it has been a long time coming, hasn't it?" Marian replied absently, her mind still on their impending mission to stop one thief to aid another.

"Well aren't we all dreamy and romantic? This is cute, Hawke, I've never seen you like this. And Ser Wesley is just adorable, all moral and upright. Do tell me how dirty he can be, won't you?"

"I swear, Rivaini, I won't help you at all if you keep that up."

It seemed even darker in the city that night, a hush descending with the darkness, as if the whole populace was holding their breath in nervous anticipation. Everyone could feel the strain, the foreboding that started for Marian after she'd left the Chantry the sad night of Saemus Dumar's death. The battle was coming, there was no way the Qunari would leave peacefully. Either they'd be attacked or would attack before long, and the Knight-Commander was right to be on the defensive. The taut tension surrounding them played on Marian's nerves as she followed Isabela to the Foundry District, only to find their destination surrounded by Qunari.

"Why are the Qunari here?" Marian asked, feeling more puzzled than before.

"Because they want the relic too, it actually belongs to them. Look, I didn't want to say anything before because I didn't want to worry you, but I've always known what it is, a book of theirs. It's written by that philosopher, Keslan, Cousland, whatever his name is."

"Koslun?" Fenris asked from Wesley's side.

"That's the one! They never had it, the Orlesians did and they were giving it to the Qunari. I just stole it before it could be handed over."

"He's the founder of their religion. That tome would be immeasurably valuable." Fenris informed them, disdain in his voice.

"Well, now we know why they've been so angry. They must have been stuck here until they retrieved it." Wesley said. Even he sounded grumpy, and Marian sighed, wondering how much complaining she'd have to endure on the way home.

"We're wasting time. Let's just get it back." Marian started forward towards the door, but Isabela held her back.

"There might be Tevinters in there, they want this book too. It would be a blow to the Qunari and they've been at war with each other for centuries."

"Oh, _Maker's fat ass_ , Isabela. Please stop with the surprises." Marian nearly begged, but all thought was forgotten as she opened the door and saw the room filled with magisters and Kossith warriors.

"He's getting away." Isabela shouted, running after the petty criminal that had the book. She disappeared, leaving Marian, Fenris and Wesley to fight a group of angered mages and Qunari. When they finally exited the building, the pirate had fled with her bounty, leaving only a note for Marian on the body of the man she'd killed for the Qunari book.

Disappointed, Marian stuffed the note into a pocket in her robes with a hand covered with the mixture of blood and grime that always coated her after a fight, and turned to look at her companions. She saw her mix of emotions reflected back at her, Wesley's face held her surprise and Fenris resignation and a little anger.

"She's gone. Well, I guess tomorrow I'll help you with the Qunari, Wesley and we can get all of this over with. Meet me in the morning." She was tired, and disappointed at the outcome of the night's events.

"Let me walk you home, Marian." Wesley offered, even though Fenris was already going the same direction. She nodded, too weary to decline, although she was loathe to have another talk with Wesley. It seemed the wrong time, all the joy from earlier dissolved by the madness of duty. Their earlier conversation remained unfinished, but Marian was like a wrung-out rag after the events of the night. It seemed ages, not mere hours ago that she'd set out from her house, intent on clearing the air between her and Wesley.

The trio parted at the doors of the Amell estate, Fenris nodding a goodbye to Marian and Wesley. When the templar turned to her, Marian held up a hand to forestall him. She didn't have the energy for words, nothing within her able to rehash the events or have the deep, meaningful talk she wanted to have with him.

"Wesley." Her tired voice cracked a she started to explain, but he pushed her against the ivy-covered wall next to her door and kissed her, the passionate kiss that had been interrupted by Isabela this afternoon.

It was a slow, sweet kiss, his lips were soft as they pressed against hers, leisurely kissing, pulling and nipping at her bottom lip, busy hands skimming over her form in unabashed exploration. She felt him grazing her hips, and a firm hand clasped the curve of her ass, making her gasp. Atop her lips, she felt Wesley smile as they continued to kiss. Parting her lips, his ready tongue slid right into her mouth, enthusiastically exploring her. But there was no pressure, as if Wesley intended to kiss her all night, a slow paced examination that turned her body to honey beneath his lips.

"Did you think I was just going to let you go in?" He asked huskily, smirking at her once he'd pulled away.

She was framed in his arms, a metal cage around her with her back leaning against the wall, his head bent close to hers. Marian couldn't help but return the roguish grin, happiness flooding through her again as she remembered their conversation. He loved her, after all these years of doubt, their disagreements and misunderstandings, he loved her. And right now, she wanted him, sleep and this crumbling city be damned. It would be nothing like before, the desperate pleading in her bed, the need to comfort with a dream.

"You know," Marian said to him in a thick whisper, "I'm not very sleepy at all. Not after that kiss."

"Neither am I." Wesley gave a rough chuckle in agreement. The desire darkening his hazel eyes, turning them deep and brown was matched by her own. Without another word, she took him by the hand and he entered the house behind her, the door thudding shut with a bang as she pressed him up against the other side of it.


	17. Serenity (Wesley)

Jubilation flooded Wesley as he found himself underneath Marian's groping hands, their kiss renewed on the other side of the door. There was nothing to stop them, and he intended to get her to the bed and keep her there.

Marian bore down on him, and their kiss devolved into something more like sparring, the two of them each vying for the upper hand. Her soft lips crushed against his, her fingers in his hair, the heat of her body up against his, seeping through his armor. Armor, damn it, why did he wear so much of it? He needed to get it off, to strip down to nothing and let Marian's limbs cover him.

He had to direct her, because she wasn't moving from the doorway. It took some gentle pushes and prodding, but Marian got the hint, and the two of them, still kissing, mouths searching for bare skin as they tumbled towards the stairs heedless of Marian's servants in the corner of the room. They would never make it up the stairs like this, he realized and with one swift motion, he picked Marian up as a man would carry his bride, and took her up the stairs.

She was featherlight in his arms, and despite their earlier battle, he could still smell the soap on her skin. Her kisses were concentrating on his neck now, making it difficult to walk the short distance across the landing to her room. Door slamming behind them, he let her down and from there it became a race to see who could undress first. Marian, unencumbered by bulky armor or straps won, no doubt aided by his inability to not look at her as she'd stripped.

Dutifully, she helped him out of his remaining armor, nimble fingers undoing straps, letting the heavy pieces clank to the floor. He could hear her panting, her breath quick and aroused as she helped him, and once his hands were free, he couldn't help but caress the soft, milky skin, starting at her shoulders and letting his fingers glide down towards her breasts. They were perfect, puffy, dusky pink crowns atop the smooth mounds on her chest, peaks standing at attention, begging for the tip of his tongue.

"Oooh." She moaned as he dropped his head to a bud, unable to resist it. Wesley suckled at the nipple, alternating with soft laps of his tongue. Marian arched into his mouth, opening her chest, pushing her breasts closer to him.

"Wesley, get naked, now." Marian gasped after he'd trailed across the sensitive, wet nipple he'd been sucking with a gentle rake of his teeth. He smiled against her skin, feeling her fingers quicken with urgency as they struggled to release him from his templar chest plate.

He needed to sit down to take off his greaves, and though he felt a bit silly, he let the skirt drop to the floor along with his smallclothes, then walked over to the bed in just his armored footwear. Marian followed him, taking the opportunity to get into the bed, and sit behind him, her chest smashed against his back as she trailed her fingertips along the side of his body. Every part of her was touching him and he could feel her heart beating as she started dropping long, sucking kisses on the side of his neck, shoulders and the tops of his arms. She'd leave marks, there would be dark red welts leaving a trail where her mouth went, and it was going everywhere. Cursing, he tried to get the boots off faster.

When he finally did, he turned around to face Marian, and found himself pulled backwards in her arms. She was aggressive, an attitude that had always worked for Wesley. But as they moved, she lost her advantage and slid beneath him for the first time. He used his advantage, covering her skin in kisses, hands heading further down her body.

Wesley lowered his head, one arm sweeping Marian's legs back, towards her elbows and she let her knees fall back, almost resting on her chest. She whimpered underneath him, in anticipation as he loomed over her, just looking. This position allowed him a vantage point that no other angle did, rump exposed and legs out of the way, cunt offered up to him. Slickness covered the curls around her sex, and he could smell the musk of her in the air. Puffy, engorged, wet lips were waiting, her excitement arousing him as he took in the sight of her. Growing impatient, she arched her back upwards, and she started to plant her feet back down on the bed, but a motion from him stopped her.

"No." He said, the word a quiet command.

Bowing his face to her, he delved between her legs, tongue first. With the tip he teased her, taking in a bit of her flavor as he closed his eyes. She was extraordinary, complex, earthy and just a little like the cold tang of lyrium. Wesley licked the length of her slit, letting her drench his tongue as he caused her to shudder beneath him. Repeating the motion, on the upstroke he caught a sensitive fold between his lips and tugged at it, making her buck wildly, her feet twitching in the air above his head.

Again he pushed his face into her, lapping at the whole of her sex, taking time to suck the bud that crowned the arch. Marian was moaning, panting beneath him and he felt one leg fall to the side, exposing more to him. Caught up in his task, he didn't mind this time, welcoming the maneuverability now that her legs weren't so close together. Before him, her sex was a feast and with a palm anchored on the side of her ass, he let the fingers of his other hand join his tongue, teasing her before he pressed it inside.

Wesley dragged the finger in and out of the tight, grasping warmth as he suckled on her clit. As she drew closer to her climax, Marian's hips rocked against the work of his mouth, spurring him onwards at a faster pace. Her hands were balled into fists that pounded the mattress on either side of her, begging for release. Moans became an unbroken litany as her need increased and he could hear his name amongst the profanities, obscenities and half-formed words as she clutched at everything within reach of her hands, his hair, the bed, the arm holding him steady as he worked.

He sped up, working his tongue against her, hitting the sensitive nub relentlessly, hearing her muffled cries around him. Just before, he felt her end, body tensing up, becoming rigid and Wesley sucked harder, his redoubled efforts earning a savage, feral cry as she come violently, bucking and spasming around him, shattering into shards as her yells echoed around them.

"Maker's breath." Wesley whispered as he sat up, angling himself up against her. Marian was beautiful, her skin flushed with color, still quaking with the remnants of her orgasm as he gazed down at her. Her eyes were closed, and he could see every shaky breath she drew into her belly, her hands still clenched in fists.

Ducking his head, Wesley took a nipple into his mouth briefly, just to taste the bud again. Her eyes didn't open, but he saw the smile on her face when he withdrew his mouth, turning his attention to his cock. It was beyond hard, pounding with furious need, and he pushed past her gentle yielding with more force than he'd intended, making her issue a shrieking gasp as he hilted himself inside of her.

He cried out as well, the tightness of her surrounding him was overwhelming, and it almost made him dizzy. It was like an electric shock, a pulsing, throbbing energy that overtook him, clenching in a vise-like grip of liquid fire. As he steadied himself, he started to withdraw, slowly, regretting the motion as he pulled away. It was almost too much to bear and he pushed back in, filling her once again, his head spinning as he repeated the motion, quicker this time.

Marian twisted beneath him, thrusting her hips upward as he pummeled into her, and he tipped forward onto her, no longer able to watch their coupling. She crooned as he repositioned himself, inadvertently hitting deeper within her. Fingernails raked down his sweat slicked back, and she wrapped her legs around him, urging him to thrust harder. He obliged, planting his forearms on either side of her, back flexing, rippling with his every movement, grinding his hips into hers.

There was no more pulling out, but rather he was shifting, pulling back and then delving deeper as he pumped. All rational thought left his head and pure instinct took over, a disembodied voice that sounded like his echoing the frenzied curses he'd heard from Marian earlier. She was fucking him hard, rolling and rocking underneath his bulk, clinging to him. There were fresh, hard scrapes on his back from her nails, stinging lines of flesh in raised scores along the path of her hands, but he didn't care, barely noticed them.

"Wes. Oh, yes. Again." Marian growled in a voice made raw with passion as he mindlessly carried out her order, body knowing what to do as his mind was a muddle. Burying a hand in her hair, he exposed her neck as he pulled her head back, licking the column with the whole of his tongue. He bit at her jaw and neck, no longer able to do anything as gentle as kiss.

Within him felt the end closing in and nearly regretted it, that it would be over, this glorious first time when primal need was so satisfyingly dominant. Like a string extended too far, he felt Marian snap desperately, heralding her second climax. Her cry this time was throatier, a deep, intimate moan as the whole of her body _squeezed_ , rendering him completely breathless at the savage clench. It was too much, too intense and it toppled him over, Wesley arcing his upper body towards the ceiling, and adding his own, thundering cry to hers as he came.

They were languid, sweaty and panting as they came down, bodies intertwined on the messy bed. The room silent save for their own breathing returning to normal and the crackle of the fire behind the grate. Her head rested on his bare chest, feeling it rise and fall rhythmically, his arm around her. Serenity so replete it could only come from a wish fulfilled stole over him and Wesley smiled down at Marian, a lazy hand stroking her messy hair. She smiled back at him, eyes full of the same peace that he felt and the shared look was the last thing he remembered before falling asleep.


	18. Sic Infit (Wesley and Marian)

It was only Marian, Wesley and three templars with them as they went to speak with the Arishok the next day, after a somewhat languid morning, the two of them lazy in bed together. He didn't know what he would find when he went back to report in to the Knight-Commander, but whatever he'd done had to be secondary to the problem with the Qunari. Fortunately, it was only the Knight-Captain he had to deal with upon his return to the Gallows, and a worried Cullen assigned templars to go with them, wishing them Maker's speed in their return.

Marian, however, didn't trust the Qunari to play fair, and Varric and Fenris were rustled up to go with them to the compound. They weren't let in, just the templars, but he was sure they weren't far from them. The unfortunate bastards that accompanied them never had a chance once the Qunari got the order to attack, buying time for Marian and Wesley with their lives. He was panting when they finally stopped running, the adrenaline that caused him to move faster than normal wearing off as he looked around and took stock of the carnage.

" _Sic Infit_." He muttered.

"So it begins." Marian translated, looking at him.

"You know Arcanum?"

"Fenris is teaching me some in exchange for teaching him to read." She panted, her breath still short.

Wesley looked at Marian askance wondering when she'd even had the time to help the elf. Fenris had made no mention of it when he'd last visited him, bringing Donnic to the mansion as a fourth for their card game, Varric ambling in from the Hanged Man. It made him a little sad, she'd never mentioned it to him, and he thought of all the things he'd missed during their time apart. They'd spent too much time apart, and when this battle was over, his only thought would be to stay right at her side. He didn't have much more time to ponder the thought, because as promised Varric and Fenris were coming towards them now that they were in Lowtown. They hadn't strayed far and he was glad for the reinforcements.

Fighting had broken out everywhere, people scared and fleeing in all directions, the Qunari and their viddathari - mostly elven, were attacking mercilessly, killing everyone, even innocents trying to flee. All throughout Lowtown, screams cut through the air, the pained grunts of the fight, vicious blood roars from the painted Kossith warriors as they bore down on the inhabitants of Kirkwall. Marian was a deadly blur of magic as she led their way through the city, her resolve faltering only when she ran into Carver and a group of Wardens.

Her brother didn't acknowledge him, didn't say anything to Wesley at all, but still held the same tone of resentment in his voice when he spoke to his sister. The senior Warden led his group away, giving Marian a trinket before he did, and Carver marched off, not even looking at her again his shoulder. Wesley walked over to Marian, who was silent, eyes downcast as she stood, shaken by the encounter. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he turned her away from the now-empty alley that Carver had gone down.

"Marian, be strong love. We need to fight, make our way to the Keep." He gently reminded her.

"You're right, we still have to save the city." Marian said, standing up straighter as she did. She gave Wesley a grim, defeated little smile before leading them off again.

Once they were in Hightown, the Qunari warriors were blocking the entrance to the Keep. Meredith came running through the rubble, flanked by more of the Order. They must be fighting all the way through the city, trying to stop it from becoming an all-out slaughter. The Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter bickered, as they often did, but this time it felt even more ridiculous, arguing over who would lead the charge. A plan of attack couldn't be agreed upon, and the two seemed unable to set aside their differences, even to save the city as it burned around them. Wesley turned desperate eyes towards Marian, urging her to speak up, to step between the two dueling idiots before they all died.

She decided to let Orsino distract the guards, allowing them to sneak inside the entrance to the Keep. Once they were in a scene of dead bodies and traps greeting them, along with more guards. In the throne room, the Arishok was busy scaring the nobles by throwing the Viscount's head into the already frightened crowd. Their book, the one that Isabela now had was their reason for staying, but it seemed like they'd decided to serve up a little conversion to the Qun as well, or maybe in consolation.

Dread, true dread was starting to make him sweat, and he could feel terrified rivulets running down his chest, collecting in his undertunic. They would have to kill the Arishok and probably all of the Qunari in here to stop this madness, and Wesley wasn't sure that they could. Behind him, the doors of the receiving room banged open to reveal Isabela, nonchalantly walking over a fallen Qunari warrior, book tucked under her arm. The Arishok wasn't mollified by just the return of his book and demanded Marian release Isabela to return to Par Vollen with him. Wesley watched in a panicked horror as she flat out refused, then accepted a duel with the giant, monstrous leader in order to save the pirate from their wrath.

There was nothing he could do to save her now.

"Marian." Wesley whispered urgently to her as she readied herself for her duel with the Arishok. "Remember - _amat victoria curam_."

She barely had time to give the brief nod that showed she understood before she turned back around to face the Arishok. Drawing in a deep breath, she let Wesley's words wash over her, mind quickly forming a rough strategy. "Victory favors care." She'd have to out think the Arishok, who would try to overwhelm her with his brute strength. Fighting Tal'Vashoth in the past let her know that force magic worked well on the bulky Kossith, and she readied her first spell as she caught the mad glint in his eye. He'd been waiting for this, just for a chance to fight her, the only person in Kirkwall he deemed worthy.

The place within her that she normally held controlled and tight, her mana, her spirit, she let it loose as she cast upon him. Sizzling, deadly lightning shocked him, and Marian took pleasure when she heard the ripping of his flesh as she shot spell after spell at him. The battle wasn't stationary, and she ran around the pillars of the room to avoid his attacks, especially when she saw the horned menace barreling at her.

A dull, satisfying thunk came her way after conjuring stonefist to slow him down, and she used the time she'd earned to replenish her mana with the lyrium she always kept on her. The acrid, putrid scent of burning hair rewarded her after she shot fire at him, blinding him momentarily as the heat blistered his face. He was flagging, almost down and she could feel it, the intensity of his attacks lessened, and he tried more to wear her down than to charge her. Each of his attacks increasingly desperate as he lost the battle he'd meant to win.

It was a blast of cold that took him down, the grand thunk of his body hitting the floor making the ground shake beneath her feet. Marian stood over him, and unleashed a last burst of magic, as he eked out a feeble threat. Through her own connection to the Fade, she felt his spirit flicker and die, like a candle burning out, sputtering at the end. When his body relaxed against the floor in a pose only death could grant, the nobles in the room erupted into relieved cheering for their savior.

Marian was still standing over the Arishok's body, looking as if she expected him to rise back up and start fighting again. She walked over to him, in almost a trance. Covered in blood, body slicked with sweat, she smelled of the death she'd just dealt out. Wesley couldn't believe the fight he'd seen, how she'd saved them all, with no one else, no backup, no one healing or helping her at all. Just Marian and the Arishok. The most dangerous threat to Kirkwall lay dead at her feet, a sight that would have once alarmed him, worried the templar in him.

Now, he looked up at her, his Marian in complete awe, respect for the depth of her powerful control. Her chest was still heaving with the force of her breath, robes splotched and stained, ripped in places, ruined by her legendary fight. Adrenaline flowed freely through her, making her high as it coursed through her veins, quickening her reflexes even though she knew the fight was over, the sounds of cheering around her increased in volume, the relieved nobility shouting their appreciation.

Marian clapped a hand behind his head and pulled her to him, capturing Wesley in a fierce kiss. He could taste her, but just barely, beneath the sweat, blood and the cool bite of lyrium that lingered on her lips from when she'd hurriedly gulped down a vial during her fight. Their teeth hit together painfully, but neither broke the kiss or stopped, her possessive hold on his lips too intense to just draw away from. It seemed to last forever, the sounds around them muted as it went on, her tongue sweeping his, deepening the kiss to something that should have been done in private, but that they needed to do right at this moment.

When they broke apart, both were panting, the intense kiss leaving them gasping. The doors of the room were thrown open, and Meredith and her too late group of soldiers entered at high speed, taking in the scene. He watched the Knight-Commander wrinkle her nose in distaste at the dead Qunari, her expression morphing to incredulity as she looked over the shell that had once been the Arishok. Her blue eyes narrowed at Marian and Wesley could almost hear her malevolent thoughts aimed at the mage.

"It seems Kirkwall has a new Champion." Knight-Commander Meredith declared, when at last, she spoke. Marian acknowledged the honor with a cool nod, then turned to leave.

One arm around Wesley's waist, him supporting a little more than she'd expected, they led the procession out of the throne room. Behind them, the sounds of relieved revelry echoed in their wake as she led him home.


End file.
